LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

\.' ■ :. . . ^ 

Shelf _.iil.:iJX7 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



: 29 1885 



The Gray Masque 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



BY, \. 



UXrUo. MARY BARKER DODGE. 







BOSTON : 
D. LOT HROP & CO. 

Franklin and Hawley Sts. 






Copyright by 

D. LOTHROP & CO. 

1885. 



Bierectyped by Beacon Fress, iloston. 



DEDICATION 




O you remember, Mother, when a child 
I brought to you odd bits of motley chintz, 
And harmonizing in crude way their tints, 
Sewed them in sections — one on other piled — 
Waiting the leisure, when not else beguiled, 
.1 might, made defter by your ready hints, 
Stitch all together? 

Ah, those gay-hued prints — 
How precious were they while you looked and 
smiled ! 



And since, dear Mother, never have I brought 
To you, in vain, the pied hues of my pen; 

If others frowned, or careless heeded naught. 
You chided wisely, or smiled help again; 

So, one kind critic — 'tis a happy thought — 
Will hold my patchwork worthy, now as then. 



CONTENTS 



The Gray Masque 

Chrysanthemums 

Sleigh Bells 

A Sylvan Search 

Mont Cents Tunnel 

The Poem 

Willy's Wife 

A Benediction 

Deliverance 

Rest 

The Rustic Lovers 

In Midwinter 

The Difference . 

Which ? . 

God's Acre 

Best 

Joy . 

Life 

Aerolites 

Unsolved 

Now 



I 



PAGE. 
I 

6 

8 

14 

15 
18 

20 

25 
26 

28 

30 
32 
35 
39 
40 

41 

42 

43 

45 
46 

49 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



The Angels of the Dew 

Dreaming Eyes . 

Abbaye aux Dames 

Harvest .... 

Love .... 

Hidden Crosses . 

The Curse of Calgarth 

Unrest .... 

Loss .... 

Arctic Heroes 

In Answer 

Laisser la Verdure . 

Birthdays 

Yellow Jessamine 

A Vision . . . 

The Breath of God . 

Arbutus and Yellow Jessamine 

The Choice . 

Overdue 

The Cricket's Mission 

Waiting 

The Use 

Pictured Autumn Leaves 

The Perfect Heart . 

Astray .... 

The Cloister 

Alone .... 



PAGE. 

5° 
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87 
88 
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94 
97 
98 
100 
102 



CONTENTS. 



Vll 



Easter-Hymn 

Mars 

The Red Planet 

" I Fear only those I Love " 

A Spring Idyl . 

In Shadow .... 

In Hollywood Cemetery 

A String of Beads : The Year's Rosary 
First Bead : The Weavers — January 
Second Bead : Valentine's Day — February 
Third Bead : Promise — March . 
Fourth Bead: Babyhood — April 
Fifth Bead : Maidenhood — May 
Sixth Bead: Motherhood — Jvme 
Seventh Bead : Heliotrope — July 
Eighth Bead : Pompions — August 
Ninth Bead : Sabbath Rest — September 
Tenth Bead : Royal Obsequies — October 
Eleventh Bead : Aftermath — November 
Twelfth Bead: Christmas — December 

Defense of Santa Claus 

Between the Years . 

To the Yellow Lily 

My Baby .... 

Yes or No ? ... 

Love's Afternoon : A Song 

Love among the Graves . 



PAGE. 
103 
106 
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109 
III 
114 
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126 

127 
128 
129 
130 

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136 

^38 
140 
142 



Vlll 



CONTENTS. 



Retrieval 








145 


In Egypt 








146 


Inconsistency 








149 


A Legend of Freitenberg 








150 


The False King and True 








155 


Mother-Love .... 








156 


Sursum Corda .... 








157 


The Mystic Barge 








160 


Spirit-Presence .... 








162 


Free Will 








164 


"Let Glasgow Flourish" 








165 


Interchange . . .• . 








167 


A Maying 








168 


Baby Grace .... 








171 


Thanksgiving Hymn — 1876 








173 


A Christmas Carol . 








175 


A Century Old .... 








178 


Cloud-Seers .... 








180 


" Wait a wee, an' dinna weary " 








182 


Indian Summer .... 








184 


The Dearest Darling 








186 


The Dying Girl's Bequest 








188 


Sundown 








191 


Love's Signet .... 








192 


The Sweetener .... 








193 


Love and Rest . , . . 








194 


Loco 








197 



CONTENTS. 



IX 



To A Crushed Violet 
Mignonette 

The Flushed Firmament 
Gold Worship . 
A NuPTEAL Sonnet . 
The Fountain of Lourdes 
A Truism 

Gone .... 
The Wisdom of Sorrow 
The Frozen Crew 
Tomorrow 
Cicada-Song 
October . . . 
Nature's Nun 
Love's Universality . 
Snow-Clad . 
The Cup of Water . 
In Gethsemane . 
^ The New Birth . 
A True Life 
Films .... 
A Sonnet 
Vasa March 
The Army of Spring 
Child Life . 
Bret .... 
The Language of Birds 



¥». 



PAGE. 

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234 
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242 

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247 
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252 
254 



X 



CONTENTS. 



Remember . 












256 


The Laureate Singer 










258 


In Sarony's Studio . 










260 


The Foolish Nuns 












263 


The Beggars' Fortune 












266 


The Mirror of Steel 












267 


Song of the Old Year 












270 


The Divine Will 












272 


General Gordon 












273 


A Jacqueminot . 












277 


Form and Fragrance 












278 


Summer Silence 












280 


Her Garden 












282 


A " Rose of the Rosebud Garden of Girls " 


283 


" A Perfect Woman Nobi 


.Y Pi 


.ANN 


ED" 






28s 



THE GRAY MASQUE 




CHANCED upon a brilliant scene, 



11 And, musing, thus I said : 
"All peoples on this stage convene, 
The whole world here is spread — 

" Here, surely, is the time and place 
To solve a problem old; 
For whoso talks with hidden face, 
The truth will frank unfold." 

Just then came tripping lightly by, 
Her step with youth elate, 

A Gascon girl of sparkling eye: — 
" Fair maid, I prithee, wait ; 

" For I, a riddle of the Sphinx 

Would ask thee — what is Love ? " 
Tossing her head the saucy minx 
Said, " Look in yonder grove ! " 



THE GRAY MASQUE. 

I thither glanced where she designed 

In time to mark a kiss; 
And thus without ado divined 

Her answer told in this. 

Ah, me ! I sighed, she little knows ; 

Love's life is not in kisses ; 
And one whose faith is pinned to shows, 

The real often misses. 

In purple robes and rarest lace, 

A queen now stopped my way; 
'I thought I knew," she said with grace, 
"But that was yesterday." 

A gipsy brown, I next espied. 
And crossed her hand with gold; 

She sneering said, " Love 's slave to pride, 
A thing that 's bought and sold." 

Later, I met a lithe coquette ; 

She, radiant as the noon. 
With mocking mouth laughed, " I forget. 

Or else you come too soon." 



THE GRAY MASQUE. 

A friar in his serge of gray, 

Thought love was fixed in heaven ; 

And following him a soldier gay 
Cried, "Nay, 'tis earthly leaven." 

Still, all on Cupid's errand seemed 

To be supremely bent ; 
One o'er some sweet delusion dreamed ; 

In wedding haste one went. 

The gipsy even, though touched with spleen, 

I knew had her romance, 
And held the honied faith, between 

Mere gain and complaisance. 

But no solution could I get, 

My earnest quest to aid; 
Each seemed to speak with truth, and yet 

Love's secret to evade. 

At length I marked a hoary sage. 

Feeble and tired and faint : 
No masque I thought is here — his age 

Is patent, all is quaint. 



4 THE GRAY MASQUE. 

I will not mention love to him ; 

His cinders have no heat; 
The fires, if ever there, are dim — 

I'll strengthen him with meat. 

At once I call for fruit and wine ; 

We quaff the kindly cup; 
And, ere I know, that quest of mine 

Is sounded while we sup. 

No more I note the seal of time 

Upon his grizzled chin; 
The lip and cheek are both sublime 

Of quenchless fire within. 

Soft lines are showing round his eyes- 
"You ask me what is Love? 

The power" (he tenderly replies) 
"That rules the courts above — 

"The pulse — that feels no limit here, 
Then how much less beyond — 
Of heart which makes two beings dear 
To each, and keeps them fond — 



THE GRAY MASQUE. 

"The Strength of souls that claim their own, 
Though silence bar the lips, 
Blessing them though they walk aloiic, 
Beneath the skies' eclipse — 

"The flame of spirits fused in one , 

Till life is but one breath ; 
Though he be warm beneath the sun, 
And she be cold in death — 

"This, this is Love." The voice was sweet; 
I felt the masque withdraw; 
And looked in vain old age to greet ; 
'Twas Cupid's self I saw. 




CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 




ilRAVEST of brave sweet blossoms, in all 
of the garden row; 



Fair, when most of the flowers shrink from the 

winds that blow ; 
Gay, when the dismal north wind wails through 

the tree-tops dumb — 
Breathing a breath of gladness is the brave 

Chrysanthemum. 

One is of tawny color; another of cardinal 

glow, 
As the cheek of a sun-warmed maiden, and tiie 

maple when life runs low; 
Others of gorgeous yellow, like gold in a kingly 

crown, 
And some of a royal purple, dusted with softest 

down. 

Some of a creamy whiteness, touched to a rosy 
blush. 



CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 7 

As the snow of the lovely Jungfrau warms with 

the sunset flush ; 
Some flame, at the heart, pearl-petaled ; and 

lavender-hued are some ; 
Yet each of them, crude or cultured, just a brave 

Chrysanthemum. 

Like these have I known some women, fearless 

where others fail; 
Blooming in wintry weather, despite of the wild 

wind's bale; 
Brilliant with steadfast brightness ; young as the 

youngest lass ; 
Formed, too, as the full-leaved Dahlia, or Daisy 

at Michaelmas ; 

Shedding the spirit's fragrance over a sea of 
frost ; 

Crowning with noontide graces life to the spring- 
time lost; 

Filling with cheerful vigor places wherein they 
come, 

As the air is freshened to gladness by the brave 
Chrysanthemum. 



SLEIGH BELLS. 



I. 

H, the falling of the flakes 
In these mute, weird days — 
Oh, the flakes the north wind shakes 

In its whirling, swirling ways — 
Ye are but a preparation 

For the keenest life we know ; 
Hearts break out in jubilation 

At the coming of the snow ! 
The sleds from out the cellar, 

And the cutter from the loft, 
O'er which summer was a jailer 

Now are gladdening the soft 
Fleecy whiteness ; and the laughter 

Of the children, and the bells 
Shaken loose athwart the rafter, 

Each with merry promise swells. 
Oh, the falling of the flakes, 

Falling, falling, softly falling — 

8 



SLEIGH BELLS. 

Oh, the earth in dreams a-calling 

For more covering ere she wakes ; 
Oh, the pearls the snow is twining 

Round the trees' minutest stems, 
Waiting, waiting for the shining 

Of the sun to fire the gems ; 
Oh, the music of the bells, 

Stirred to fitful palpitation, 
And the hope that upward wells 

Through the snow's sweet liberation ! 
Oh, the falling of the flakes. 

Falling, still so softly falling, 
And the pure white joy it makes, 

World-enthralling ! 
See ! the passive joy, yet pregnant 
Of the wild joy that is regnant 

When the sun calls out the bells — 
Wakes the jingling, jocund jingling, 
Wakes the free roulade of jingling 

Of the sleigh's impatient bells ! 

II. 

Oh, the sun upon the snow 
■ In these clear, bright days — 



TO SLEIGH BELLS. 

Oh, the ghtter of the glow, 

Wrought of gold and crystal rays — 
Ye are yielding in fruition, 

Rare, ripe clusters of the joy 
That was but an intuition 

Yesterday, to girl and boy ! 
Now, the sleds are coasting gaily, 

Down the whitely mantled hill. 
And no single shadow, grayly. 

In the crisp noon bodeth ill. 
Scarlet capes and woolen mufflers 

Half the dainty darlings hide. 
Whom the ruddy, roystering shufflers 

Promise soon to give a ride. 
Oh, the chubby, wrapped-up Graces ! 

One from other who could tell? 
Roses peeping through their faces — 

Throwing snow-balls round, pell-mell ! 
And the skaters pirouetteing 

On their skates of burnished steel ! 
And the fun when sleds upsetting 

Riders tumble head o'er heel ! 
Oh, the ringing of the voices, 

Shouting, screaming, res'nant ringing, 



SLEIGH BELLS. jj 

While the answering air rejoices, 

Sharply stinging ! 
Hark ! the noisy mirth yet pregnant 
Of a joy that shall be regnant 

When the moon calls out the bells — 
Wakes the jingling, dulcet jingling. 

Of the sleigh's resilient bells ! 

III. 

Oh, the moon's resplendent light 

In the hushed, white days — 
When above, below, the night 

Is with sheen of snow ablaze ; 
When the milky-way of angels 

To fresh stars has given birth. 
And Love's luminous evangels 

Lie unfolded on the earth ! 
Oh, not strange such lucubration. 

Tempting love to read it right, 
Proves a peerless invitation 

To the maiden and her knight ! 
And not strange that coursers airy, 

Shod with softly feathered shoon, 



12 SI,EIGH BELLS. 

Bear the two to realms of faery, 

Where ring bells in wedcling-tune ; 
Where the dream-land bells are chiming 

With the strings of bells so sweet — 
Liquid bells that go a-rhyming 

To the coursers' dancing feet. 
Oh, these last are nigh forgotten. 

In the tingle and the flush 
Of the bliss and sigh begotten 

Of the first kiss and its blush ! 
Yet with fresher inspiration 

Fall the dancing, prancing feet, 
While the bells in new libation 

Seem more sweet ! 
List ! in chorus ever pregnant 
Of a future joy more regnant, 

How the moon inspires the bells ! 
Wakes the jingling, tenderest jingling. 
Wakes the soft roulade of jingling 

Of the sleigh's mellifluous bells ! 



IV. 



Oh, the magic of the snow 
In these blithe, cold days, 



SLEIGH BELLS. 13 

When both young and old o'erflow 

With their hfe's unconscious praise ! 
When the young heart's ready keys 

Stir unbidden with sweet numbers, 
And the old heart's memories 

Break in rhythm from their slumbers. 
Oh, the precious dews of heaven, 

Making fair the summer flowers, 
Are not more divinely given 

Than the frost of winter hours! 
Mither falls a stainless vision 

Till, above the billowy snow. 
Bells ring out in blent allision 

To and fro. 
Swelling drifts o'ertop the fences, 

Burying boundaries from the sight ; 
Infinite whiteness thrills the senses 

With delight. 
Oh, the fallen flakes are pregnant 
Of a joy forever regnant. 

When their charm invokes the bells — 
Wakes the quick and mellow jingling, 
Wakes the rich roulade of jingling. 

Of the sleigh's enlivening bells ! 



A SYLVAN SEARCH 



[ROM tales of rural gods I rose, 

[ And sought them in the woody deeps, 



Where held in shadowy, sweet repose, 
The sunshine like Endymion sleeps — 

Where murmurous waters softly sing 
To listening branches bended low, 

And tuneful birds on ready wing, 
As Zephyrus, gently come and go. 

II. 

Vainly I sought the gods, yet heard 

Their spirits whisper thus to mine : 
"Who seeks us finds the forests stirred 

By myriad voices all divine ; 
And learns that still the mystic spell, 

Of fauns and dryads, fills the place 
With beauty myths have failed to tell — 

One God in every hidden face." 
14 



THE MONT CENIS TUNNEL 



Fraftce and Italy first shook hands through the opened tunnel 
on Christmas-day. 




HE boom of the cannon is over 
That deafened us with its roar; 
The traihng crimson of carnage, 

Dread demons of conflict wore — 
Unlike the robe of the Master, 

Which, touched, bade sin to cease — 
Is lifted in sad folds slowly. 

From the steps of the goddess, Peace ! 

Slowly and wearily lifted — 

Its fringes and tarnished gold, 
Humid with life-ebbing currents 

And burdened with grief untold ; 
Yet Peace, with her trooping children, 

Fleecily draped in white, 
Shall over the stained fields gather 

And cover the deadly blight. 

IS 



l6 THE MONT CENIS TUNNEL. 

Bathed in the Hght of her presence 

France will be joyous anew, 
Gaily forgetting in sunshine 

The shade which the cypress threw. 
Even now the voices of miners 

Deep in the Alpine chain — 
Lost amid clangor of battle — 

Echo the resonant strain : 



Echo the Christmas greeting, 

That rung through each rock-ribbed hall, 
As they forced the lock of the mountain, 

And shattered its hindering wall. 
War and its train of evils 

In the past shall forgotten be, 
While dawneth a radiant morrow 

Through the tunnel of Mont Cenis ! 



A dawn where brave Faith is standing 
With her veil unloosed for aye, 

As she looks down the open pathway 
So trammelled but yesterday. 



THE MONT CENIS TUNNEL. 17 

Fitting she deems Christ's birthday 

For this birth of a fuller time, 
A larger civilization, 

A clasping of hands sublime. 



But the meeting of Gaul and Roman 

Is little, to eyes which see 
That a babe, the father of giants, 

Is delivered of Mont Cenis. 
Yes, she is a Titan-mother, 

And her stony heart has thrilled 
To the voice of the Cyclop, Science, 

Who hath ruled her as he willed. 



Willing and winning her fealty, 

See, they are one in soul — 
Day after day have been trending 

Earnestly to the goal ; 
Till now in jubilant measure. 

Over the unsealed stone. 
The workmen cheer to the triumphs 

Which for toilsome years atone, 



l8 THE POEM. 

Thirteen years of waiting — 

For the fruit of hidden toil ! 
From the granite of trust and labor, 

Felt Science no recoil ? 
No ; though grave heads were doubting 

That failed the end to see, 
Patient he stood, and loyal 

To Faith and Mont Cenis. 



THE POEM 



1^ 



HAT'S a poem ? Something more 
Than the royal fact of prose ; 



Prose, though masterful its store, 
Nothing half so subtile knows ; 
'Tis the attar of the rose — 

'Tis divinest lore. 



THE POEM. 19 

II. 



'Tis a dream of truth begot, 
Floating in an upper air, 

Sweet as any Angelot, 
Lifting aspiration where 
Earthly greed and earthful care 

Are awhile forgot. 

III. 

'Tis the something under sun 
Which no critic can define, 

All the while convincing one 
That it is a breath divine : 
'Tis the sparkle of the wine 

When its beads up-run. 

IV. 

'Tis of life the inner soul, 

And of death the starry core ; 

'Tis of art the living coal 
Kindled on a farther shore. 
Skyward burning more and more 

To its finished goal. 



20 WILLYS WIFE. 

V. 

'Tis the God within the breast 
Love-compelling them who see 

To expression, which is rest — 
Rest, in uttered harmony : 
This, the poem — verily — 

God-thought manifest ! 



WILLY'S WIFE. 



HE road is long and rough, you see. 
Far stretching o'er the prairie ; 



And if his father went — well, I 
Must stay and mind the dairy. 

Perhaps an idle tear I dropped 
To see him mount the filly, 

And go alone to bless the bans 
Of our dear boy, our Willy! 



WILLY S WIFE. ii 

A week of days is passed since then, 

Each longer than the other, 
So strange it is to think he's wed 

And I not there — his mother ! 
So strange, when he a toddUng thing 

Got all my care so freely; 
Well, care and kisses wait today 

For Willy's wife and Willy. 



What's that you say ? That I've not seen. 

And so I may not love her ! 
Not love Azs love ! Why, troops of girls 

Might lift their heads above her — 
Ay, all the girls might fairer be 

In bloom of rose and lily. 
But dearer than the best to me 

Would be the wife of Willy. 



'Tis true, he's young. 'Twere well, perhaps. 

He'd waited just a little : 
A lover's chain too sudden wrought 

May prove, alas ! but brittle. 



2i WILLY*S WIFE. 

Yet old folks often make mistake 
In thinking young folks silly — 

And what's the use to question now, 
She's wife of my boy Willy? 



Oh, ay, be sure, some other might 

Have lined with gold his pocket; 
But I have seen full many a stick 

Come down from dear-bought rocket. 
And yet, I hinted to the boy 

His own short purse — and still he 
But scorned the hint. Well, love's enough 

To dower the wife of Willy. 



For, Willy, let m.e tell you now, 

Is not the one to falter 
In doing what an honest man 

Has promised at the altar; 
'Twill be no fault of idle ways 

In him, if times prove chilly : 
No need, I wis, for aught but love 

With this young wife of Willy. 



WILLY S WIFE. 23 

And if a wife bring love, I'm sure 

'Twill make a mother kindly ; 
The mother, if she's wise at all, 

Will scan a little blindly; 
For, smooth the ruts as smooth we may, 

Life's path must yet be hilly ; 
There's many a flint to prick the feet 

Of even the wife of Willy ! 



So, keep your doubts ; no longer jest 

Because I'm anxious waiting 
To clasp my darlings to my breast. 

And bless their early mating. 
I spake full loud to stay the match — 

But now my finger stilly 
Is placed upon my lips, since she 

Is mine, the wife of Willy. 



She's Willy's wife, and so she's mine — 
My own dear, darling daughter — 

If they're one flesh they're but one blood. 
And thicker 'tis than water. 



^4 WILLY'S WiFfi. 

Then hold your peace about the charms 

Of Susan or of Milly; 
I tell you, friend, she's best of all, 

This wife of my boy Willy. 



Lo ! here they are, the precious pair — 

My precious boy, my rover ; 
And with him one to crown his days : 

Look ! who could help but love her ? 
Come, father, shut the cabin door, 

The winds without blow shrilly, 
But what care we beside the fire 

With Willy's wife and Willy! 



The bread is white upon the board. 

The kettle bravely simmers, 
The red flame dances up the wall, 

Where shining pewter shimmers ; 
Kind neighbors grasp our Willy's hand. 

In welcome — will he nil he ; 
Oh, happy day that lights the home 

With Willy's wife and Willy. 



A BENEDICTION. 



HE common air is affluent of sweet 
Attmied to love divine — for which still 
wait 

The yearning years of human love's estate : 
Outborne a zephyr now, with balm replete 
It bathes an aching brow or weary feet; 
And now, a perfume unadulterate, 
As fragrance overfioating heaven's gate, 
Gladdens the spirit that it stirs to meet. 

The simplest thing will waken pure delight, 

And thrill the present with prophetic tone — 
Why, just a low "God bless you" breathed last 
night. 
By lips pledged loyally to truth alone. 
Touched — through the virtue that such words 
invite — 
My very soul, and made the grace mine own! 

25 



DELIVERANCE. 



Ml 



I. 
HE bird untutored to the narrow cage, 
With fluttering wing strikes vainly at the wire 
That circumscribes his freedom — grief and rage 

By turn subdue and set his soul on fire 
(If birds Aave souls), till, yielding to his fate, 
He sings and sings his little life away: 
Be still, my soul, and wait; 

A better day 
Will come, or soon or late. 

II. 

A sweetness comes to every captured thing 

In time, through time's absolvent ministry; 

It may be Death whose arms the solace bring. 

Or Peace may compass the caiDtivity: 

Whate'er inures, fools only fight with fate — 

Philosophy propounds an easier way — 

Be still, my soul, and wait ; 

A better day 

Will come, or soon or late. 
26 



DELIVERANCE. 27 



III. 



The lion, caught to please the gaping crowd, 

May dream of Afric's sun and bite his chain, 
And roar his rampant agony aloud. 

Whose nearest hunting-ground is death's domain; 
The captured fly a truce may win of fate, 

And buzz an hour yet, in the sun's bright ray- 
Be still, my soul, and wait; 

A better day 
Will come, or soon or late. 



IV. 



Hearts break, but not the bars of destiny; 

Fools' hearts I mean. The wise man seeks 
God's will. 
And finds it wheresoe'er his lot may be ; 

Thus panoplied his fretted thought grows still. 
Conscious that God alone is Lord of fate. 

And that his strength can gird us when we say, 
"Be strong, O soul! and wait 
The better day 
That comes, or soon or late." 



REST. 




PRECIOUS Rest that follows pain 
Unutterably sweet art thou, 
Whose presence soft, again, again, 

Has sealed with peace my aching brow. 

From some divinest realm above 

With noiseless step thou drawest near, 

And out of vials filled with love 
Pourest a balm of tender cheer. 

We shrink away from dreary Pain ; 

Yet she it is who flings the gates 
Apart for thee ! In vain, in vain. 

Without her help thy blessing waits. 

Thy sandaled foot of velvet tread, 
Thy pliant gown of fleecy fall. 

Thy breath of silence round my head, 
Are only pain's sweet servants, all ! 
28 



REST. 29 

Alone by dark'ning shades we know 
The glory of the vanished light — 

The Morning glows with richer glow 
Just loosened from the clasp of Night. 

O Rest, thou angel born of Pain — 
O Night, that yieldeth Day's caress — 

O Faith, with doubtings in thy train — 
Ye all, in turn, are born to bless ! 

Thank God, it is not ours to choose 
And idly hold what seemeth best; 

The pain, the doubt, the dark refuse, 
And miss the hallowed touch of rest! 




THE RUSTIC LOVERS. 



WO artless souls I met today — 
A pair of rural lovers ; 



As lightsome and as careless they 
As aught the sunshine covers. 

Stray moths, that float the warm air through, 
Had wingless seemed beside them, 

Who, wholly glad, had nought to do 
With what might yet betide them. 

Along the stone-paved street they stept, 

As if in clover walking; 
And of the crowd no record kept, 

Each to the other talking. 

I could not hear a word they said, 

Yet quick, returning glances. 
Between them, spoke of spirits wed 

Like those in old romances, 

30 



THE RUSTIC LOVERS. 3 1 

The satchel swinging on his arm, 

His garments quaintly fitted, 
Her old-time dress yet girlish charm, 

All held me while they flitted. 

I saw they would not barter one 

Of cither's valued kisses, 
For any riches under sun 

That make up meaner blisses. 

And then I thought how heaven comes down, 

To bless the simple-hearted, 
Who have no care for fashion's frown — 

No fear but to be parted. 

I thought, too, if the world but knew 

The half of what it loses 
By slighting love, in shame 'twould rue 

The meagre life it chooses. ' : 

Yet nothing recked the happy pair, 

Of such a lesson needed 
By folk o'erlooked, while passing there 

Themselves as little heeded. 



32 THE RUSTIC LOVERS. 

All unconcerned they dreamed not why 
I scanned their tell-tale faces; 

And pitied unloved ones go by 
To cold, heart-lonely places. 

These softly laughed, delighting each, 
Quite heedless of the weather, 

Supremely blest one goal to reach 
Linked arm in arm together. 



IN MIDWINTER. 




ILD is the wind that blows and blows ; 
It riddles the snow on the level plain •, 
It cuts my heart as it sharply mows 

The whitened meadow that knows no pain ; 
For I think of one who is far from me, 
And whose life is risked on the ruthless sea. 



IN MIDWINTER. 



33 



I see in a vision the great ship tost, 

As the tree-top swings and the branches fly, 

And I shiver with more than the chilling frost, 
At what may be passing 'twixt sea and sky — 

Hark ! did I hear the strong mast split ? 

'Tis a fence which the splintering wind has hit : 



The rails fly hither and yonder, sent 
By the hurricane's breath on a mad career; 

How may the ship that today out-went, 
Safe in the whirlwind's courses steer ? 

Oh, Lord of the storm, on bended knee, 

I pray that my own come back to me. 



The prayer or its answer solace brings : — 

I mind me the wind from the south-west fares ; 

And the giant strength of its unseen wings 
Haply to harbor the good ship bears. 

Yet hope goes down ere its joy uplifts. 

As I think how the treacherous wind-wave shifts, 



34 IN MIDWINTER. 

Even now from the south it is charged with rain- 
Rain that freezes within its clasp ; 

And now from the east on the window-pane 
It lays an icy and rattling grasp — 

Do I hear the crash of a foundered wreck ? 

'Tis only the wind that feels no check : 



Tearing the shingles off of the roof, 
Swinging the window blinds to and fro, 

Swirling by force of its iron hoof 

The half of an elm to the ground below. 

I shut out the ruin, I cover my head. 

To dream of ruinous waves instead. 



I dream of all horrors of storm at sea ; 

I dream of my own there, struggling, wrecked ; 
And still as I dream sleep flies from me, 

And prayer like the wind goes forth unchecked : — 
— Oh, Lord of the tempest, draw thou nigh ! 
Say to him, " Be not afraid ; it is I." 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

TO M. J. P. 




PRING is fitful, coy, you say, 
Even in your Southern bound ; 



Like a willful, laughing maiden 
With superfluous life o'erladen. 
Kissing one with smiles today - 
Later, sweet hope to confound. 
Breathing a defiant scoff, 
Moved to brush the kisses off! 



Now, our Spring is much too simple 

In a helpless babyhood. 
Yet to show one roguish dimple 

Born of gay, coquettish mood : 
Here, among the Northern hills. 
Winter's scarcely loosened rills, 

While they break their icy tether, 
Tell us somewhat of her birth ; 

35 



36 THE DIFFERENCE. 

Still, we have to question earth 
Very closely, and the sun, 

As they sit at feast together, 
Of the long expected one — 
Whether she in baby-wrappings 
Or in shorter, girlish trappings. 
Lives, where none of us may see. 
Ripening in earth's nursery? 

Sometimes we have rare replies ; 
As when Robin breaks the spell, 
Of accustomed winter's reign, 
By some rich, delicious swell 
Of the song he brings again 
From the spice-lands — while he flies 
Here and there from tree to tree. 
And from ragged fence to fence, 
Peering round excitedly . 
For a place of residence. 
Hearing him, we look and lo! 
On his breast the tropics glow; 
In his voice old summers sing, 
And kind nature stays his wing, 
Blessed surety of the Spring! 



THE DIFFERENCE. 37 

Thus we know the maiden grows. 

So we listen at the door, 

Where are yet some drifted snows; 

And with gratitude rejoice ; 

For we hear a lisping voice 
As of child in pinafore, 

Saying slow its A B C — 

Slow ; but with intensity 
Bent upon the dog-eared pages, 
Thumbed alike through countless ages, 
By young Springs, that fretted o'er 

All the signs from bulbous B, 

To the mazy letter Z, 

Just as earnestly as she. 

Melting thus the frost away 

Of the fair child's ignorance. 

Little drops are heard to dance 
To a music hid from day; 
But the music is so low 

It will take a loving ear 
To be sure the hindered flow 

Means that lily-bells are near. 

Spring, indeed, is really here. 



38 THE DIFFERENCE. 

Though a tender nurse and mother 
Keep her out of sight, in fear 

Of some sad mischance or other 
To her beauty. 

So, 'tis clear 

That the toying and coquetting 
Of our girl is but delayed; 
While your larger Southern maid 

Flings the jasmine's honeyed nectar 
Over field and over wood; 
Or, to suit some wayward mood 
Just for mischief blows a blast 
On the horn of winter past. 

But old winter's very self, 

Backed by many a blatant elf 
Holds with loosening hand the scepter 
Of our darling ! To detect her 
In her scarcely budded setting, 

One, a devotee must be, 

And must listen patiently 
To the lesson she is getting 

At dear mother nature's knee. 



WHICH? 



I. 



HIS ship, with taut and straining sail, 
Goes laboring through a leaden sea; 



Bleak winds about it countervail. 
And black'ning skies bend sullenly. 



II. 



That gaily hugs the other shore, 
Across where noon its glory sheds ; 

While, bright as Euxine waters bore, 
A golden fleece of canvas spreads. 



III. 



And yet upon one tide the two 

Are hastening to the deeps of night. 

Who knows, when later lost to view, 
Which ship shall bask in fullest light ? 

39 



GOD'S ACRE. 




LL space God's acre is. No narrow bound, 
But utmost range is his to sow; 
Each futile limit and ambitious mound 
His own to overthrow. 

Two silent angels guard the sacred place : 

One equal with the Orient is ; 
The other, purple-clad with solemn grace, 

Claims all the West as his. 

The brighter angel, smiling, scatters seed, 
That break with gladness through their bars, 

Till earth seems even the heavens to exceed 
With multitudinous stars. 

Follows with shadowy wing, the angel Death ; 

The lamps of day fade one by one ; 
While yet the glory flickered by his breath 

To shine has just begun. 

40 



BEST. 41 



So these twin angels do God's acre till — 
God's acre covering land and sea : 

Their interlacing pinions work His will, 
Fulfilling Love's decree. 




BEST. 

LITTLE sooner or a little later — 
What matter, pray, 



If the dread summons come today, tomorrow? 

If soon, we may 
Be saved the bearing of some bitter anguish; 

Or, if more late, 
A few short hours are gained for life to burgeon : — 

This boon how great 
And precious seeming ! — albeit quick to vanish 

Predestinate. 
Ah, be it soon or be it later coming, 

"Not now," we cry. 



42 JOY. 

As chill the winds strike, sweeping down from 
death-land ; 

"Hereafter, I 
Shall be more fitted for the final parting." . . . 

Yet best the fate, 
Whose unrescinded law refuses option 

To shrinking sense, 
And by inexorable firmness praises 

Omnipotence. 



JOY. 



WEET things by bitter are so closely chased, 
Smiles droop so soon to withering trouble 
wed, 
The softest skies with gloom so quick are spread, 
And over life, death stalking makes such haste. 
We wonder if enjoyment be not waste 
Of priceless pearls of time, or rubies red 
Of vital power, bestowed by God instead 
For soberer uses. 



LIFE. 43 

But, O Love, the taste 
Of just one joy of thine can turn the tide 
Of such reflection, while flow in to chide 
Warm seas of rarest perfume at my feet ! 

Then, come life, come with death, while joy, 

though small, 
Has virtue thus to crown herself o'er all, 
And fill earth's wilderness with heaven's sweet. 




LIFE. 

I. 

jIFE is a rose, brier-burdened, yet sweet. 
Blooming a day; 
Flinging its perfume like perfume to meet. 
Wind-blown away. 

II. 

Leaf after leaf spreads its blush to the air, 

Kissed by the sun ; 
Deeper-hued growing as joy makes it fair, 

Love's guerdon won. 



44 LIFE. 

III. 

Leaf after leaf shrivels up from the heart, 

Leaving it bare ; 
Color and fragrance and joy all depart, 

None left to care. 

IV. . 

Nay, the divine in it lingers there still, 

God's care in all; 
Rose-leaves but fall at the beck of His will- 

Fetters which thrall. 

V. 

Up from its trammels the freed spirit wings, 

Higher to soar; 
Attar immortal the essence that flings 

Sweets, evermore! 




AEROLITES. 




ROUBLE that shootest in such startling ways 

Out from the heart of joy, and joy that brings 

From the great, central Heart, on swiftest wings, 

A light ineffable, in whose full rays 

We should but blinded be — O Joys that daze. 

And Trouble, pointed with sharp light'ning- 

stings — 
We would the secret know of minist'rings 
Which temper you unto our feeble days? 



Joy flashes, trouble falls, and yet we live — 
Upborne upon a sea of smiles and tears; 
And so, in the economy of spheres. 

When sudden sun-bolts through dim spaces cleave. 
When meteors fall, earth's airy currents weave 
Resistance to the havoc that inheres. 

45 



UNSOLVED. 



|0W it baffles — the problem of Life : 
The sage, who the riddle Avould read 



This tangle of peace and of strife — 
Braves a battling enigma indeed. 

We think we have sounded its deep — 
Lo ! shallows smile mockingly back ; 

We vow but the sunshine to keep — 
Lo! clouds prove our promise a wrack. 

The gloom of some tempest passed o'er, 
We turn to a blue bit of sky — 

Just a morsel of gladness, no more, 
Redeeming the sorrow gone by ! 

Fain, at times, in the storm we v/ould die, 
Distrustful of comforting breath ; 

And yet, if the spectre draw nigh, 

How we shrink from the earnest of death ! 

46 



UNSOLVED. 47 

Oh, what is this something we hold 

So heedlessly while it is sweet ? 
So tenderly when it is old — 

The grave yawning under our feet ? 

Ay, clingingly, when the cold hand 
That chilis us with terror is near; 

But lightly when Time, with his sand 
Unwasted, rings laughter at fear! 

This something, whose healthfulest glow 
Is dashed in a moment by pain — 

Doom-shadowed — does any one know. 
Or, echoes the query in vain? 

Ah, little in knowledge we say. 

Of aught which eternity spans ; 
Enough, that life's mystical way 

Is ours, though it blesses or bans : 

Enough, that we cannot disown 

The portion we sought not of birth — 

This bloom, half divine, that has grown 
From seed hidden deep in the earth — 



48 UNSOLVED. 

This power that has dust for its mould, 
And waits some inscrutable force, 

Ere purified, strong, uncontrolled. 

It springs to its God-centered source ! 

Springs upward (how else ? ) to the light, 
From which it has parted an hour, 

To find, though in foldings of night, 
The form of the perfected flower. 

Sweet faith! Happy faith that upbears 
The soul through each questioning stress, 

Till wisdom all question forswears : — • 
The problem unsolved, answerless. 




NOW. 



PON my bier no garlands lay, 
To shrivel at death's icy touch; 



" Pansies for thought " bequeathed today, 
Were worth a thousand such ! 

Rare flowers too often serve the pride 
Which grants them — naught beside. 

No lavish tears that laggard be, 
Pour vainly on my pulseless clay; 

A single drop of sympathy 
Were richer boon today; 

Today I need it — but, thank God, 
No need is in the sod. 

Yield now the sign, or let me go 
Unlaureled into waiting space ; 

Not taunted by a hollow show 
Of friendship's tardy grace ; 

Not mocked by fruits that would not fall 
Save as an idle pall. 

49 



50 THE ANGELS OF THE DEW. 

Fair blossoms with love's dew-drops wet, 
And fondly laid in folded hands, 

Must hold the grateful spirit yet 
While wandering in strange lands; 

But wounded souls the meed must spurn 
That only Death can earn ! 



THE ANGELS OF THE DEW. 



Sp^lWAS late in June — a deepening twilight 
crept 



Within the garden wall ; 
No shape familiar its own meaning kept. 
But shadowy, vague was all. 

A peace, that scarce would do the heavens wrong, 

Reigned softly, and caressed 
The yielding senses ; while cicada-song 

Unhushed, the silence blest. 



THE ANGELS OF THE DEW. 5 1 

The very measure of the long drawn notes, 
So unlike other sound, ■* 

And heard afar from myriad hidden throats 
Made rest the more profound. 

The flowers had shut their eyes, yet breathed per- 
fume 

As children do in sleep : 
The subtile charm was theirs of living bloom 

In slumber folded deep. 

I saw through space an angel form descend — 

Or in my lulled repose 
I felt it rather — slowly, gently bend 

Above a dreaming rose. 

The sweeping wings were level ; only bowed 

The star-illumined head ; 
Rare vesture falling like a fleecy cloud. 

Soft, with the twilight wed. 

Divinest lijos one lingering moment rest 

Where sleep a blush enfolds ; 
And after, sparkling as the angel's crest. 

The rose a dewdrop holds. 



52 THE ANGELS OF THE DEW. 

All favored Rose — methought ; none other here 

But hence will own thy power; 
When lo ! more spirits, fair as this, appear, 

Each guardian of a flower — • 

Each with a glory set upon his brow ; 

Each with the lucent wings ; 
Each with benignant hands, and will to bow 

In holy minist'rings. 

Do flowers have angels then, and unto us 

Come no sweet angels down ? 
Unseen, the same, yet far more glorious, 

With diamonded crown. 

Await our need. They fill the fainting cup 

Of life with freshening dews ; 
And when we call at last, they bear us up 

Beyond where death pursues. 



DREAMING EYES 



ELL me, O, tell me, the drift of the dream 
Floating, in liquid light, over 
The marge of those blue depths of wonderful 
gleam. 
That lily-blooms daintily cover; 
Tell me the rare fancies jealously hid 
Under each down-drooping, silken-fringed lid. 

Show me the vision where life overstreams 

In amethyst, ruby and beryl ; 
Or, better, for love's sake, the vista that seems 

But lonely, o'ershadowed and sterile : 
Thy jewels would gleam in the gold of my heart — 
Thy poverty waken its tenderest art. 

O eyes, dreaming eyes, I would pass through your 
gate, 
To the innermost truth of their seeming; 

S3 



54 



ABBAYE AUX DAMES. 



Yet, outside their holy of hoHes must wait — 
Unmeasured the source of their dreaming : 
StiU hopeless I question, no kind voice replies, 
And I'm lost in the blue of two soft, dreaming 
eyes. 



ABBAYE AUX DAMES. 



WEETEST place to live or die in, 
Lovely, smiling, fresh to view; 
Hillocks green the weary lie in 
Fallen asleep in Hbtel Dieii ! 
Holy living, holy dying, where each path seems 

good and true. 
Only that the fatal motto haunts us — ^^ jElles ne 
s orient ^lus." 

Haunts us with a thought of pressing 

All the ruby from the rose ; 
By an ashen hue confessing 

Bloom with fragrance idly blows. 



ABBAYE AUX DAMES. 55 

Not alone are flowers protesting; diamonds flash 

forth from the dew ; 
From the zenith stars are gleaming ; nought saith, 

'"'' Elles ?ie sortent plus.^'' 



Nought but man the God denieth, 

Spurning boldly of His good; 
Fearful of what He supplieth, 

Hiding from His angry mood ! 
Better to our Christian thinking, mingled rosemary 

and rue, 
Than the heart's-ease singly blowing, whispering 
'"'' Elks ne s or tent plus T 



Through each life some knell is ringing, 

Closing fast a garden door. 
Dumb to all our tenderest singing. 

Wildest pleading, evermore ! 
But to choose this cloistered living — from the 

sunshine seek the yew ! 
No, ah, no! till God has said it, say not, ^^ £lles 
ne s orient plus^ 



56 ABBAYE AUX DAMES. 

He to each a cross is sending, 

Meted with divine st eye ; 
To it low and lower bending — 

Not out-reaching while on high 
He retains it ; not rejecting fairest gems that 

earth bestrew — 
We, as trustful children happy, wait His ^'^ Elks ne 
sort'ent plusT 



Gentle sisters ! softly gliding 

Where your sternest duties call, 
Can there be an angel guiding 

When in stone your hearts you wall ? 
Awe and love for your devotion to our Lord such 

doubts subdue — 
But with Christ came liberation! why then, '■'■Elks 
ne s orient plus ? " 



Thus I mused as sauntering slowly 
Through the Abbaye and Hbtel, 

Where ks dames in office holy, 
Strive in goodness to excel. 



HARVEST. 57 

Still I mused in thought conflicting, till the truth 

its radiance threw : 
Truest souls bloom best in freedom — not when 

''^ Elks ne sor tent plus y 



HARVEST. 



UN-BATHED and blest in the golden 
weather, 

Crowned for delight, or crowned for pain, 
Sheaved as ripe grain of the field together, 
Covered with love from the possible rain — 
One are the hearts that were yesterday twain. 

Either has wandered a separate river, 

Half of its course through the meadows of time ; 

Here, at the junction, the flood-gates deliver 
All of their wealth from a varying clime, 
Each unto each, in a rhythm sublime. 



58 LOVE. 

Rapturous moment of full fruited gleaning! 
Rapturous blending of spirit with kin! 

One in the heavens but knoweth the meaning 
Of tenderest mystery hidden within 
This meeting of waters — this harvested sheen. 



LOVE. 



I. 



S^l SEA, deep sea, heart-pulsing sea — 
MM All-conquering ruler — life is brave 

To bend to thee, as wave to wave ! 

Though thou, from wreck, may'st hardly save, 

(While every sense thou seek'st to lave 

In fullest tide of ecstasy) 

For joy, or pain, or what may be, 

Through all that serves thee, loyally. 

Thy liege am I, O mastering sea ! 



LOVE. 59 



II. 



O sea, blue sea, fair, smiling sea, 

With feathered crests by sunshine smote — 

In days gone by, I launched my boat 

Gaily on thy warm waves to float 

For aye and aye. Sad breakers wrote 

Upon the shore, how recklessly 

A tossing billow scatters free, 

Of fancied bound, youth's hope in thee, 

Thou shining, storm-brewed, changeful sea! 



III. 



Yet, boundless sea! Unfathomed sea 
If on the sands thy shallows beat. 
Thy central depth knows no deceit. 
Where once I sailed I walk to meet 
A Form that stands with restful feet, 
Crowning thy untamed mystery : 
Light leads my footsteps tenderly — 
Upbearing arms outstretch to me — 
And Thou art mine. Eternal Sea ! 



HIDDEN CROSSES. 




DO not ask from thee, O Lord, 
A cup of reddest wine ; 
I do not ask for brightest beams 

Upon my path to shine ; 
I do not ask in fullest fields 

My busy scythe to sway; 
I only ask for strength to lift 
The crosses in my way. 



Those nameless crosses thou alone 

Hast searching power to see — 
Too subtile for the loving ken 

Of any. Lord, but thee ! — 
Those crosses wreathed with thorn-set flowers 

Which friends unwitting weave, 
And by imperfect human act 

The wounded spirit grieve. 
60 



HIDDEN CROSSES. 6l 



I do not ask, O gracious Lord, 

For bliss bestowed on none — ■ 
To know and to be fully known 

By each beloved one ; 
I only ask, Omniscient Love, 

Since heart is sealed to heart, 
For bravery to bear the thorns 

That bid the tear-drops start. 



The ponderous cross, too great to hide 

Incentive to despair — 
Invokes the martyr in the breast, 

Which sternly helps to bear 
The measured burden all deplore ; 

But human sympathy 
Is slow to reach the hidden cross 

Thy clear eyes only see. 



Thou who alone of all our friends 

Hast tasted every cup, 
And by the bitterness of each 

Knowest to bear us up — 



62 THE CURSE OF CALGARTH. 

Oh, give me grace to wear my cross 

A secret still with thee, 
And live in the sustaining power 

Of Thy sufiiciency ! 



THE CURSE OF CALGARTH 




N the northernmost bound of Windermere, 
The loveliest gem of the English lakes — 
Whose silvery flow in the light wind shakes 
As it doubles the blue sky, soft and clear, 
Or glasses the cloud-hills fathoms deep — 
Here, where the shores fond mem'ries keep 
Of more than one master of minstrelsy, 
Stood the humble home, to its owners dear, 
Of Kraster Cook and his Dorothy. 



THE CURSE OF CALGARTH. 63 

Calgarth was the homely name it wore, 
And slenderly noted wears today; 
For the guide-books lead us another way 
Than the road to Calgarth's unfettered door. 
'Tis but little of picturesque it owns ; 
Yet a legend clings to the mossy stones, 
As meet for a Southey's pen, as much 
Of the far-away life of mystic lore, 

That caught his fancy and warmed his touch. 

Close to Calgarth on Windermere, 

Lay a broad estate of wealth begot — 
So broad that heaven alone knows what 
Could have made the covetous holder peer 
With a jealous eye on the farmer's mite. 
Yet the riddle is old as our race is, quite. 
And the rich Myles Phillipson, Magistrate, 
Burdened with acres, sleek with cheer. 

For the field of his neighbor lay in wait. 

To his every bribe he was answered "Nay;" 
But Myles swore inly he'd have the place 
Be they " lyve or dedde ; " and he waxed apace 



64 THE CURSE OF CALGARTH. 

More kind to its owners day by day. 

Thus the days made weeks, and the weeks flew 

past, 
Till the snows of the yule-tide fell at last ; 
Then the 'Squire spread feast for his neigh- 
bors all — 
For rich and for poor as was then the way — 
And Kraster heeded the friendly call. 



Dame Dorothy donned her wedding gown, 
In lavender laid so long away ; 
And Kraster gave to his locks of gray 
A brighter gloss as he brushed them down 
Straight o'er his forehead, Vandyke-style — 
Both faces made fairer through hope, the while 
They rode on one saddle keen to see, 
And share the riches of far renown 

That smiled in the Phillipson treasury. 



The hall was gay in its Christmas dress. 

Time flew ; yet the wassail-bowl still was sweet ; 
The smoking odors of v/ine and meat 



THE CURSE OF CALGARTH. 65 

Still savored of rollicking happiness ; 
Still, the tender grace of the mistletoe 
Tempted new dancers to and fro; 

When a cry was raised for a missing cup — 
A cup of gold that was worth no less 

Than the all of some that were there to sup 



'Twas Kraster Cook who the last was seen 
To drink therefrom of the steaming brew ; 
But that was at midnight ; now, 'twas two 
O' the clock; and the honest pair had been 
Home at Calgarth for an hour in bed — 
Resting as honest folk do, well fed, 

Well housed from the cold, and nothing loth 
To turn to their life of content again, 

From a scene of revelling new to both. 



Like the winter night that lies sleeping long, 
The farmer lies burthenless, too, asleep; 
But soon from his slumber, soundl}^ deep, 



66 THE CURSE OF CALGARTH. 

He is roused by a knocking, loud and strong, 
On his unlocked door; and by Dorothy 
Crying, "Gudeman, Kraster, wake and see 
What means this din in the morning gray; 
'Tis strange indeed for such noisy throng 
To come at all, in the night or day ! " 



3carce time had the old folk clothes to don 
Ere the drunken roisterers tumbled in : 
Some good men, some of them steeped in sin, 
All flushed from 'Squire Phillipson's ; bent upon 
Righting their host if the fact turned up 
That Kraster had stolen the missing cup. 

Some thought so, some doubted, a search 
would tell — 
In the kitchen, the cupboard — Ah! there it shone; 
And the shout that rose was a funeral knell. 



For the 'Squire was magistrate — that you know; 
And you've thought how the cup in the cup- 
board came ; 
Since you cannot forget the 'Squire's one aim 



THE CURSE OF CALGARTH. 67 

To possess Calgarth — by any means, so 
No land of another should bar the clear 
Line of his vision to Windermere. 

Two innocent victims — what were they? 
[Theft was a death-crime years ago] 
What, indeed, to his willful way? 



Followed a trial — false of course; 

Of justice there was not a ray of hope 
For the fated pair; while a hempen rope 
Swung in the sentence ; and no remorse 
Softened the judge's cruel face. 
Sudden uprose in the prisoner's place 
Old Dorothy, bold in her rightful ire — 
And the court-room shook with the ominous force 
Of the curse she hurled at the 'Squire. 



" Fool ! vain shalt thou guard thyself ! vain 
Shall thy hope be to prosper ! thy breed 
Shall, henceforth, be subjects of greed, 



68 THE CURSE OF CALGARTH. 

And perish of loss and of pain ! 

Their schemes shall all wither in hand ! 
Ere long not an inch of the land 
Shall be his that a Phillipson owns ! 
And in wretched Calgarth you never again 
Shall be rid of us haunting its stones ! " 



The 'Squire's beard whitened under the rain 
Of Dorothy's withering speech ; 
Poor Kraster could only a hand outreach 
With motion of protest in vain. 

His timid wife was now brave of mien 
As though she a vision of grace had seen, 
And further cared nothing for breath; 
The awe-stricken people for mercy were fain, 
But a voice muttered : " On to the death." 



The curse to the end was fulfilled. 
Came repentance, if ever, too late. 
Every Phillipson bowed to the fate 



UNREST, 69 

That the pride of the Phillipsons willed. 
On the shore of the lake yet is told 
That the ghosts were not laid till the gold 
Of each Phillipson dwindled away : 
Not till all of the race had been stilled 
In the silence that deadens decay. 



UNREST. 




EARY of all the vanities of earth, 
Weary of all the striving after good, 



We sink, as impotent children, little worth. 
Into the shelter of thy Fatherhood, 
And cry — 
Uplift us with thy strength who else must die. 

Weary of high imaginings of lives 

That wholly fail in light of thy pure brow, 



70 LOSS. 

We turn abashed from what our folly strives 
To emulate, and reverently bow, 
And cry — 
There is none good but Thou, O Lord, most high 

Weary of even love that lures us on 

To hope we've found, at last, our soul's ideal. 

Weary, unsatisfied, and yet alone, 

Though it has blest us with its presence real, 
We cry — 

One only love. Thine, Lord, can satisfy! 



LOSS. 



I. 



i 


1 



LOST my treasures, one by one. 
Those joys the world holds dear : 
Smiling I said, " Tomorrow's sun 

Will bring us better cheer : " 
For faith and love were one. Glad faith ! 
All loss is nought save loss of faith ! 



ARCTIC HEROES. 7 1 



II. 



My truant joys came trooping back, 
And trooping friends no less : 

But tears fall fast to meet the lack 
Of dearer happiness : 

For faith and love are two. Sad faith! 

'Tis loss, indeed, the loss of faith! 



ARCTIC HEROES. 




ITTLE know we who live within 
The balmy sphere of southern breezes, 



Of life like theirs whose ships careen 

Where northern ice the red blood freezes. 
We read of Nordenskiold and say, 
With praiseful breath as well we may, 
"Brave sailor he, who bravely sailed 
And found the way where all had failed." 



72 ARCTIC HEROES. 

But what, in blissful ignorance 

Of cold that falls much under zero, 
Can we conceive of the romance 
That compasses the arctic hero 
Within the aura of success ? — 
How much the stress of bitterness 
Hidden below the dauntless, bold, 
Emprise of such as Nordenskiold ? 



What pain ? Not only such as stirred 

The world when brave Sir John was missing; 

But pain whereof no note is heard — 

Pain which through lonely lands goes hissing 

From sharpened lips in iterant sound; 

From shrinking lips when it is found 

Expedient by men, in strait, 

To leave a comrade to his fate. 



As differs suffering, so does that 
We honor by the name of glory - 

Of several deeds are several great 
Yet varying widely in the story : 



ARCTIC HEROES. 73 



Not the mere pluck of human plan 
Is in the courage of the man, 
Who watches all his helpmates go 
And waits to soothe a dying woe ! 



Oh, tenderest bravery had he' — 

The bravery of Christ's foreshowing — 

Who in De Long's perplexity 

Said, "Go, I'll stay" — his bosom flowing 

With love's clivinest sympathy; 

And who for love's sake dared to be 

Left in the wilderness, to keep 

With Death a lone companionship. 



Close sealed is much of kindred fame 
To gild the white of polar pages, 

That history will proudly claim 

In quick-forthcoming, zealous ages : 



^ Jerome J. Collins, who volunteered to stay with the dying 
seaman, Hans Erickson, and let the others of De Long's party 
push south. 



74 ARCTIC HEROES. 

At frigid peaks stand fervent men, 
As on the rocks of Jan Mayen, 
To star-like blaze or share eclipse 
With Science in her daring ships. 



The world is young, still like a boy 

In eagerness to grasp at prizes ; 
And in pursuit of promised joy 
As reckless of rare sacrifices ; 
So, heroes born of toil and pain 
Shall come and pass and come again : 
Some famed like those whom seas infold, 
And some in life like Nordenskiold. 



IN ANSWER. 



" How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use ? 
A hope to sing by gladly ? or a fine 
Sad m.emory, with thy songs to interfuse ? 
A shade in which to sing, of palm or pine ? 
A grave on which to rest from singing? Choose." 

Mrs. Browning. 



m 



ID'ST need to question thy best use, most 



Ja| rare 

Of sweet-voiced women by the world enshrined ? 
Thou, whose rich song with richer thought com- 
bined 
Is manna to the many, free as air; 
Is Hght to prisoned love v/hich may not dare 
Or could not if it dared, an utterance find, 
Equal to thine, outleaping all its kind. 
And which impassioned souls with weeping share ! 

Knew'st not, my poet, of the disesteem 
Of self begot in me by wealth that gave 

7S 



76 LArSSER LA VERDURE. 

Two crowns — imperial love's and fame's ? Supreme 
Each one ! 

With thee as hope and palm, oh, brave 
My life ! 

In prescience did'st thou shade the stream, 
Willing me memory's pine above thy grave ? 



LAISSER LA VERDURE 

THE LAST WORDS OF GEORGE SAND. 



I. 



AYING "Laisser la verdure," 
Fled her soul of flame away 



From its bond of kindred clay. 
Craved she grasses sweet and pure — 

Only grass above the bed 

Where should lie her laurelled head 
Saying, " Laisser la verdure." 



LAISSER LA VERDURE. 77 



II. 



Of a smaller heart and brain, 
She had sought a marble pile 
World-remembrance to beguile ; 

But, she rather showed disdain 
For the carven shaft and cross, 
Blatant of repeated loss 

Of the smaller heart and brain. 

III. 

"Laisser la verdure," she sighed; 

And they thought her mind astray. 

Nay ! her mind her own alway. 
Saw, beyond their worldly pride, 

Spires eternal in the sod — 

And in them the smile of God — 
" Laisser la verdure," she sighed. 



IV. 



Poet, to the latest breath ! 
Woman, manifest despite 
Man's disguise and error's blight! 



78 LAISSER LA VERDURE. 

She would have her wish in death 
Simple truth to lie beside — 
She, who shrank from truth belied 

Poet, to the latest breath! 



V. 



Listen: Laisser la verdure! — 
' Tis her volumes' finished theme ; 
(Not a mere romantic dream.) 

At the bourn she knew the sure 
Note of peace, and gave the key 
To life's sweetest ministry — 

Listen : Laisser la verdure. 



VI. 



" Laisser la verdure " resounds 
From her heart again, again ; 
Falls it like the gentle rain 
On the summer's sultry bounds — - 
Flowers lie withered; better, best, 
Sheer, green grasses promise rest- 

" Laisser la verdure " resounds ! 



BIRTHDAYS. 




" Who are just born being dead." 

HO weeps when love a cradled babe is born ? 
Rather we bring frankincense, myrrh, and 
gold. 
While softest welcomes from our lips are rolled. 
To meet the dawning fragrance of a morn 
Of checkered being. 

Even while the thorn 
Keeps pace with rosy graces that unfold, 
Do we with rapture cry, " Behold, behold, 
A heaven-dropped flower our garden to adorn ! " 

And yet when from our darling fall the years, 
As from the rose the shrivelled petals rain, 
And into newer life the soul again 
Springs thornless to the air of purer spheres, 
- So blinded are we by our bitter pain. 
We greet the sweeter birth with selfish tears. 

79 



YELLOW JESSAMINE 



TO P. H. H. 



^^|IX fairy bells, six golden bells ring out in 
dulcet way, 



And tell the sunniest tales to me, on this chill 

April day. 
Six blended bells, six radiant bells ring forth their 

rare perfume. 
And flood me with the melody of a tropic land of 

bloom. 



Between two lancely shields of green, each golden 

censer swings, 
And, heedless of our northern cold, its fragrant 

incense flings. 
Each chants in mellow madrigals of whence it 

hither came, 
While all together chime as one of a land of song 

and flame. 

go 



YELLOW JESSAMINE. 8 1 

I see, in that they sing of it, a pleasant porch 
before 

A southern poet's sylvan home, where jessamines 
round the door 

As sweet as these, as starry bright, 'mid just such 
lance-like leaves, 

Are hung a-trembling in the air, from the porch- 
base to its eaves. 



Thrilled with the fragrance that is borne by these 

stray bells to me, 
I learn by what they yield, how rich, how richer 

far, must be 
The gracious tide of redolence their unplucked 

blossoms pour, 
Beneath a native southern sky, and about that 

cottage-door. 



O golden bells ! Ambrosial bells ! I deem ye are 

more fair 
Than other bloom, because ye grew in song's 

enchanted air : 



82 A VISION. 

Because ye speak in sun-bright warmth of music's 

wondrous role, 
And how it flows, in odorous sound, from one true 

poet's soul. 



A VISION. 



^EEP hid within the wood 
I My strange, new home oppressed me with 
its gloom. 
Twas Christmas Eve, and in despondent weary 
mood, 
I left the quiet room, 



To seek for sympathy 

Where Nature, too, I thought must mourn her 
fate. 
But lo ! a moon of rarest brilliance, splendidly 

The time did celebrate. 



A VISION. S^ 

As first I saw her face 

Fair shining in this far-off mountain-pass, 
I wondered, "Can it be in such deserted place 

She speaks as to the mass ! " 



Even so — and so I stood 

And hearkened unto what she had to say : 
The message that was silvery spoken, through the 
wood. 

And on earth's tablet lay. 



It said : " Be still, and know 

There is no lonely place in God's great world — 
None lonely where His smile shines thus upon the 
snow, 

Lighting the scroll unfurled." 



And in full accents, clear — 

Clearer than any I had heard before : 

•' Behold, the radiance of love is here — even here 
God's benison flows o'er." 



84 A VISION. 

Then chimed the stars to tell 

That not the city's pomp of Christmas cheer, 
With peal of merry voice and gala-sounding bell, 

To Him could be more dear 



Than one heart's lonely praise; 

And that He sends His heavenly choir to be 
Witness of love to all — to those on desert ways ; 

To those on shore and sea. 



No more my eyes could read. 

A film of joy had risen from my heart, 
I think, to blind them ; or the lack of further need, 

Had bade the words depart. 



The rest I onl)^ felt 

While standing near to heaven that glorious 
night ! 
So near, so near it seemed, the mem'ry since has 
dwelt 
A vision of delight. 



THE BREATH OF GOD. 85 

And now I know full well, 

Though mirth and song of festive days be mine, 
A higher, purer joy in loneliest lives may dwell. 

Such blessing to outshine : 

That heaviest crosses hide 

Divinest garlands, which Love's fingers weave ; 
That 'tis a chosen part, with His poor to abide, 

Of Christ on Christmas Eve. 



THE BREATH OF GOD 




T Cometh from the East — the wintry plain 
Softens beneath the tender touch of rain. 



It Cometh from the West, and hoary vines 
Pour out of rounded cups the richest wines. 

It Cometh from the North, and finest lace 
Is woven to cover Nature's sweet, old face. 

It Cometh from the South, and all the sod 
Blossoming saith : " It is the breath of God." 




ARBUTUS AND YELLOW 
JESSAMINE. 

TO C. A. B. 

AY, who shall hold in contrast, jessamine- 
bells, 

From Georgia's sunny barrens of wild pine, 

With Maine's Arbutus flowering on its vine, 

That sweet amid the snows the spring foretells ? 

True, balm of flame luxuriously wells 

From jessamine censers overfull of wine ; 
Yet no less precious is the low-swung shrine 

That with a blushinsf incense saintlier swells. 

The two but do bespeak how Nature's grace 
Varies, to meet the Sun's, her lover's, moods : — 
She lifts, suffused with kindled warmth, her eye 
To his, and bathes his radiant feet with floods 
Of ecstasy. 

Not less, in cloistered peace 
Kneels prone to him, her god to magnify. 

86 



THE CHOICE. 




RT'S worthy worshiper is strong 
To hold his mistress by the hand, 



And, deaf to every siren-song 
To heed her least command. 

Another, gifted by the gods, 

And thrilling to Art's touch as he. 

Is swept adown life's rushing floods 
Wooed by Love's melody. 

Ah, two absorbing mistresses 

No mortal heart may duly serve : 

The jealous goddess fails to bless 
A choice that dares to swerve. 

And yet, and yet, Art's hand is cold 
To this so warm I clasp in mine — 

Come, let her count one less in fold, 
And count thou me, beloved, thine! 

87 



OVERDUE 



HE beads from the wine have all vanished, 
Which bubbled in brightness so late ; 



The lights from the windows are banished ; 

Close shut is the gate, 
That yesterday swung wide in joyance. 

And beckoned to fate. 

The goblet stands idle, untasted, 

Or, tasted, is tasteless tonight; 
The breath of the roses is wasted ; 

In sackcloth bedight 
The soul, in the dusk of her palace 

Sits waiting the light. 

Ah, why do the- ships waft no token 
Of grace to this sorrowful realm ? 

Must suns shine in vain, while, their broken 
Rays, clouds overwhelm ? 

Sturdy Breeze, if some sail bear a message, 
Sway thou at the helm ! 

88 



THE cricket's MISSION. 89 

But if haply the ruler be coming, 

Drug the sea-sirens each with a kiss ; 

Stroke the waves into calmest of humming 
Over ocean's abyss: 

Speed him soft from the shore of the stranger 
To the haven of this. 

Then the soul-bells in joyous revival 

Shall peal all the carols of spring; 
The roses and ruby wine rival 

Each other to bring, 
In the crimson and fragrance of welcome, 

Delight to the king. 



THE CRICKET'S MISSION 




HAT are you singing from sun to sun, 
Cricket, the long hours through? 
Are you telling of what the earth has done, 
Or, of what it has yet to do ? 



90 THE CRICKET S MISSION. 

The rhythm of all that you drone about 
Is a melody vague, yet dear — 

So dear that the summer were dull without 
Your answering presence here. 

A tenderer tint the green leaves wear, 

The silence is hushed anew. 
And a softer motion is in the air. 

Because they are thrilled by you. 

Again I listen, and still again. 

To your monotone's boundless store. 

In hope to catch from the low refrain 
Some secret of hidden lore ; 

For, truly, it seems you know it all, 

Who never are loth to tell. 
From early spring to the latest fall. 

Whatever you've learned so well 

And yet, O cricket ! 'twere wise to think 
That your burden from sun to sun. 

Would fail of a charm could we unlink 
Its mysteries one by one. 



WAITING. 91 

Enough ! enough, on the restful swell 
Of your weird notes low and long, 

To yield one's soul to the soothing spell 
Of dreams that are nursed by song. 

Enough ! enough, for our comfort here, 

That life, like your occult strain, 
Is an unlearned tongue whose accents clear 

We hearken, too, all in vain. 



WAITING, 




ESTERDAY'S cup was brimming 
To its curving rim with hope : 
As flowers to the bee awaken 

So did the glad hours ope 
With songs of the heart's soft humming, 

Full of a deep delight. 
As it crooned over happiness coming — 
The joy that should come with night — 
But, it blossomed not with the night; 



92 WAITING. 

And mute is the morn with waiting; 

Faint fall the bee's light wings, 
And lower is now the humming 

Of the murmuring song she sings. 
The passionate prince of the garden 

In the pride of his purple may woo, 
But the queen knows where is the nectar, 

And she turns, sweet heart, to you — 

She waits for ambrosia and you ! — 

Waits for the honeyed blooming 

Of the sweetest blossom of all. 
Will it open its fragrant petals 

And answer her earnest call ? 
Will you come as the shadows lengthen, 

Till they fade in the far away light. 
And fill the cup of tomorrow 

With the dews of a glad tonight.? 

Will you come, dear heart, tonight? 




THE USE. 




HAT'S the use, love, to look for your coming 
As bees to the opening flowers — 



Forever in busy rounds humming 
Of the joy hid in tropical hours? 
The honey to hive in sweet hours. 



What's the use, when delight is as fleeting ' 
As the laugh of waves kissed by the keel 

Of the ship which moves onward, unweeting 
Of sorrow sure parting must seal ? 
Ah, time bears a pitiless seal ! 



"What use," does my soul keep a-sighing? 
Of what use then the birds and the flowers 

Bringing summer on pinions a-flying — 
Yet with summer joy filUng the hours.'' 
Just this use, love, to gladden the hours. 

93 



PICTURED AUTUMN LEAVES. 




AY autumn leaves ! we have seen you blending 
Your irised pennons in shadowy vale, 



And gather new glory upward wending, 
In the savage north wind's trail, 

From the mountain's base 

To its crested space, 
Where burning hues prevail. 



O, green and yellow and crimson and gold. 
Out of the loom of the Infinite rolled, 
In wild luxuriance, fold upon fold, 

We drop you a tear in wonder 
That the wind, the wind which is bleak and bold. 
Your blushes should deepen, your life infold. 
Till chilled to the heart by a love so cold. 
You shrivel and die in russet mould, 

And are buried the deep snows under! 

94 



PICTURED AUTUMN LEAVES. 95 

Sad autumn leaves! Can we wake rejoicing 
In loveliness doomed of its birth to pale? 
Can we echo the melody of your voicing, 
Not moved by its latent wail 
That sighs for aye, 
Through the bright array 
Grim Death must countervail? 



Yet, crimson and gold and yellow and green, 
Hush your low murmurs, for I have seen 
A power that is subtle and strong and keen 

To bear you across time's river — 
Where ashen garments never demean 
The radiant form of autumn's queen, 
But on through the ages in aureate sheen, 
Bating no jot of her royal mien. 

She gorgeously glows forever. 



Glad autumn leaves ! this benison lingers 

(Lifting you over life's wintry wave) 
In the heaven-born touch of the artist's fingers. 



96 PICTURED AUTUMN LEAVES. 

Whose passionate sou] can save — 

By the wondrous skill 

Of a master's will — 
Fair forms from a waiting grave. 



So, green and yellow and crimson and gold, 
Your emerald, topaz and ruby unfold — 
Dreading no robber-king, withered and old. 

Shall bid you your grace surrender! 
Nay — flame, that the wind in his might would hold 
As you joyously spread over wood and wold 
In diaphanous haze of a wealth untold — 
Blaze on in your beauty by naught controlled, 

For art's seal is set on your splendor ! 




THE PERFECT HEART 
"as gold is tried by fire" 



RIGHT, shining ore there is in Nature's hold, 
Starring the great dome's tessellated floor; 



But fretted so with blemish through and o'er, 
And bedded deeply in earth's jealous fold, 
That bravest instruments in hands most bold, 
And fires that redden hotly more and more, 
Must wrench and purify the precious store 
Ere calmly floats a lake of flawless gold. 



Oh ! she was beautiful : a counterpart 

Of shining gold, veined too with veins of dross ; 

Yet did it seem an all too cruel art 

Which crushed her pride beneath a leaden cross, 
And melted all her splendor in the loss 

For gain : such peerless gain — a perfect heart ! 

97 



ASTRAY. 



JlPflEWILDERED, Father, at thy feet 
1^1 I fall today; 



Seeing two paths — of bitter, sweet — 

In parted way ; 
And weary, blinded, sore distrest, 

I humbly pray 
For thy behest. 

Adown this vista clusters fruit 

Tempting and bright; 
Can it be true, from branch and root 

Spreads poisonous blight? 
Father, the precious boon bestow 

To heal my sight 
That I may know ! 

Across, a bleak road stretches far, 

In cold, gray air, 
Wherein I see not one bright star 

To make it fair — 
98 



ASTRAY. 99 

O, tell me, is the narrow way 
Always so bare 
Of golden ray? 

I scarcely dare to look upon 

The grape-hue d path, 
So soft it smiles within the sun — 

So much it hath 
Of joy to make the other seem 

Fulfillment rath 

Of some fell dream. 

Surely my feet were never fixed 

- Firm, in true way, 
To hold me thus two roads betwixt 

In dire dismay : 
In fear of wrong, in doubt of right, 
Mistrusting day, 

And dreading night. 

Yet, Father, if Thou wilt but guide, 

I need not mourn 
Whatever sorrow may betide. 

The sharpest thorn 



lOO THE CLOISTER. 

Is not all painful, if the while 
The flesh is torn 
I see Thy smile. 

Life's purpled vines must all decay - 

Unblest or blest: 
Lead, Father, lead whichever way 

Thou seest best; 
The longest way is short that yields 

Eternal rest 

In heavenly fields. 



THE CLOISTER. 




|0 ; not an art-built cloistered roof 
Shall my poor soul ensnare — 
Such veils the grief, the pain, reproof, 

But cancels not the care. 
Our clinging earth-born heritage we carry everywhere. 



THE CLOISTER. lOl 

To hide my face within its wall, 

To guard my heart with stone, 
Seemed once a very angel-call, 

So soothing fell its tone, 
And I so tired and wandering, bewildered and alone. 



But He who stood upon the mount 

With Satan, face to face. 
Slaked not His thirst at such a fount — 

Sought not a hermit's place 
To shield Him from the weariness of mingling with 
his race. 



The feast with tender heart He graced, 
Though sorrow chained his breast — 

His cup too bitter with the taste 
Of mortal life for rest — • 

Outpouring love and joy as wine for every thirsting 
guest. 



Like Him, O soul, thy hermitage 
Claims universal air ; 



Ip2 ALONE. 

Like Him, O soul, thy pilgrimage 

Must be through faith and prayer — 
Among the throbbing human hearts that, fainting, 
with thee fare. 

Like Him, O soul, thy weariness 

To prove its rest must wait, 
Striving each wearier one to bless 

Ere, thou, at heaven's gate, 
Shalt find thy cloistered-roof, and be no more dis- 
consolate. 



ALONE. 



LONE ! He trod the wine-press all alone ! 
Mark — feet and limbs disrobed to nakedness 
Of them who tread the pulpy grape to press 
The juices out, and bid them reddening run: 
The burden brook they of a mid-day sun; 
And He, with not one equal hand to bless. 
So bore unhelped of man his labor's stress, 
As one who dared not leave the work undone. 



EASTER-HYMN. I03 

Alone ! And we, alone, must tread our way — 
No rest for us in any comrade's hand : 

Alone, unconscious, do we reach life's day; 
Alone, at night we near the unknown land; 

On some dear breast an aching heart we lay. 
Alone still ! None but God can understand. 



EASTER-HYMN. 



" Christ, our Passover, is sacrificed for us ; therefore let us 
keep the feast." 




ARK ! the Easter bells are ringing ; 

Hark ! the morning-stars are singing, 
While a lowly incense swinging 

Rises to the light. 
Earth is votive tribute pouring, 
By sweet fragrance of deep storing 
Bursting from her heart adoring. 
At the close of night. 



I04 EASTER-HYMN. 

O'er high arch of faith supernal, 
In communion eternal, 
Loving souls forever vernal, 

Wander to and fro : 
Souls which have of sin been shriven; 
Souls whose fetters have been riven 
By the grace their Lord has given, 

Through his patient woe. 



These have seen, beyond the seeming. 
Heaven a fact; and earth but dreaming 
All of earth that is not gleaming 

With the perfect day. 
Breathe they ever of love's roses. 
While with John each head reposes 
On the breast that all encloses 

Of their tempted way. 



Little recks love of the platter 
So the feast be there. What matter 
Gold or earthen ? Rose in attar 
Perfumes common clay. 



EASTER-HYMN. 105 

Prize we most the diamond's setting 
Or the diamond — still forgetting 
Whether gold or silver fretting 
Holds the jewelled ray? 

Thus, of precious store partaking, 
Narrow hope and fear forsaking. 
To our souls' eternal making 

At Love's board we'll stay. 
Hindering bars for us are broken ; 
Silent words to us are spoken ; 
Lo! our faith's transcendent token — 

Christ is risen today ! 




MARS. . 




ARLIKE Mars in winter's praise blows his 

bugle shrilly; 
Yet the sweet South he betrays in a moment 

stilly — 
Wooing her from solitudes of her woodland mazes, 
To believe in softened moods of his protean 

phases. 



Trustful, scarcely has she sent fragrance on a mild 

wind, 
Than with treacherous intent, swoops a cruel wild 

wind. 
Stark beset with bristling swords — envious of her 

savors — 
Bearing down with savage hordes, to o'ercome her 

favors. 

To6 



MARS. 107 

Tremulous with fear of death, now creep slow the 

breezes 
Of the sweet south-land, whose breath hill and 

dingle pleases — 
Touching day to fuller day, narrowing night's 

abysses, 
Yet in sadness driven away : frowns bestowed for 

kisses. 



Not for Mars the fruits of love, kindness wins for 
crowning ; 

Shiv'ring tree-tops rather prove how unblest his 
frowning ! 

Tender green with sweetest songs that the song- 
birds sing us, 

And the bloom to them belongs, peacefuller gods 
shall bring us : 



Peacefuller gods who fill our hands with the dewy 
sweetness 

Of the overflowing lands, in the spring's complete- 
ness — 



Io8 THE RED PLANET. 

Gods whose more benignant sway shall the ruin 

cover 
Of the wild and lawless way of this changeful 

lover. 



THE RED PLANET. 



f\ 



RE science looked with an unwearied glance 
Into the very souls of distant stars, 
And pondered faithfully the face of Mars, 
We placed within the planet's hand a lance, 
A shield upon his breast — and in our trance 
Of ignorance, we made his rust-hued bars 
A pretext to devote to him the scars 
And mantling honors of blood-red mischance 
And loyalty of battle. Then, akin 

To wildest winds we deemed his moods and 

brought 
The spring's first month to him for chrism — 
and wrought 



"l FEAR ONLY THOSE I LOVE." I09 

Their names almost in one. 

Oh, had we seen 
As now we see that poor, half-frozen star, 
It still had symboUed March, but never V/ar ! 



"I FEAR ONLY THOSE I LOVE 




E ne crams que ceiix que faime: 
So a noble knight went singing 
Through the mediiEval woods — 

Fearful not of war-cry ringing 
Nor the raging of the floods : 

High emprise was all his care, 
Winning tender love's acclaim ; 

So he carolled, debonair, 
Daring all for love and fame, 
ye ne crains que ceux que faime. 



no I FEAR ONLY THOSE I LOVE. 
- II. 

ye ne crains que ceux q-ue faiine^ 

Warbled low a lovely maiden, 
Leaning in a rustic bower 

Shadowed with its bloom o'erladen 
Thus she sang and soothed the hour 

Waiting for her love to come — 
Him she could not safely name 

In the rigor of her home — 
Sang full low, but clear the same : 
ye ne crains que ceux que faime. 

III. 

jfe ne crains que ceux que faime, 

O'er his missal mused a friar: 
"Flesh nor devil do I fear; 

'Tis the rose and not the brier 
That can stir a truant tear. 

I can brook the brier's sting. 
Not the rose's fading flame. 

Lord, to thee alone I bring 
Trembling hope and trembling aim: 
ye ne crains que ceux que faimej^ 



A SPRING IDYL. HI 



IV. 



Je lie crains que ceux que faime: 

Such the voice's hush is saying 
Of strong hearts that pulse to prove, 

Mid their singing and their praying, 
Nought is worthy fear but love. 

Nought in life and nought in death 
Puts the gallant soul to shame. 

Sealing with unconscious breath 
This, the creed its deeds proclaim : 
jFe ne crains que ceux que faime. 



A SPRING IDYL. 



HE dusky shadows of the night are flying, 
(The weary winter dies) 
And in the east the ashen void supplying, 
Dawn's tinted clouds arise. 



112 A SPRING IDYL. 

From dreams of summer on these fleecy pillows 

In rosy raiment dight, 
Fair spirits float upon the misty billows, 
And bring us new delight : 

This new delight is Spring's delicious presence ! 

She charms the enamored air 
With kisses warm, and breath of savory essence," 

And amber-floating hair. 

She bears to earth a benison from heaven, 

As though, through slumber deep. 
Her soul had strayed there, while the snows have 
striven 

To hold her in her sleep. 

She greets the woodland — under her alighting 

The cradled violet grows ; 
And even the city's stifled love requiting, 

O'er it her spell she throws ; 

In hyacinthine showers of honied sweetness, 

And tender primrose bloom. 
That bring fair nature in her bright com.pleteness 

To many a shaded room. 



A SPRING IDYL. IT3 

Before gay palaces she lightly passes, 

Yet, lingers too, to bless 
And gem with emeralds the petted grasses 

Waking at her caress. 

She scatters blessing and the while she blesses 

Outpouring all her store 
Her open wealth by miracle increases, 

Expanding more and more ; 

Till town and meadow, forest, hill and river, 

Enriched by her largesse, 
Give back in grateful tribute to the giver 

A world of loveliness. 

No more we sigh that winter's pallid finger 

So long earth's garden sealed: 
Not on past care, methinks, do angels linger 

With paradise revealed ! 

Unless to note that the divinest pleasure, 

Within its central height. 
Bears sure and clear proportion to the measure 

Of life's once weary night. 



IN SHADOW. 

J. R. T. 




OW can you carol so o'erhead. 



I You gladsome birds on wanton wing? 
Ah, me ! you know not he is dead : 

You only know the joy of spring — 
You cannot know what wealth is gone, 
And so you careless carol on. 

God bids you, as he bids the bloom 
Of brightest blossoms tint the air; 

He sees beyond the shaded room, 
Beyond the blank of our despair: 

He sees the glory struggling through 

The clouds that dim our finite view. 

Were it not so, I think the sun 

From cheerful shining would refrain, 

Grieved that the earth he smiles upon 
Groans ever with new travail pain. 

"4 



IN SHADOW. 115 

But joy is hid within the ground 
That greater joy may more abound. 

So, sing your songs ye songsters gay, 

And, flowers, your honied sweetness pour ! 

Our poet in the ground we lay 

Only that he may live the more — 

Perhaps his influence sweet extend 

More friendful to each loving friend. 

Yet still we grieve with unchecked tears, 

It is so hard by faith to stand. 
While through the vista of the years 

We blindly grope to touch his hand : 
A hand that served a master-brain — 
A hand love never sought in vain. 

Great Love ! look down and make amends 
For all the light from us withdrawn ; 

Look down upon his sorrowing friends 
And give us glimpses of the dawn 

That breaks upon his quickened sight, 

While we stand shrouded in the night. 



IN HOLLYWOOD CEMETERY 
[the same.] 




ARRARA'S stainless finger never lent 
Its taper length to mark a purer fame, 
Than his whose, earnest life was votive flame 
Upon the altar of rare culture spent. 



Yet vain the labor that Carrara bent, 

Through years of crystal growth, to match a name 
Of so clear memory ; it needs must shame 

The white of any earth-born monument. 



Far truer tribute than outgleameth here 
Is ruby-shrined in many a loving heart. 

Whose thought mounts up in sympathy sincere 
Beyond the marble reach of sculptured art, 

With thanks to God, who gave in one so dear 
The saint's and sage's gentle counterpart. 

ii6 



A STRING OF BEADS. 





1 



THE year's rosary. 

DREAMED a pleasant dream one summer 
day, 

Strolling the milk-white sea-sands musingly, 
When each clear wave an emerald seemed to be 
Of some rare necklace, gold-set to array 
The ample bosom where it shining lay. 

Scarce knew I which outflashed with heaven 

more free. 
The splendid beauty of the berylline sea, 
Or earth's warm breast, bright with the jewelled 
spray. 

Thus loitering, before me quaintly rose 
A vision of the Year, in human guise : 
A gracious woman with soft lidded eyes, 

Holding twelve opals, threaded rosary-wise ; 

And by them telling what such gems disclose — 
The ever varying life they symbolize. 

117 



Il8 A STRING OF BEADS. 



FIRST BEAD. 



The Weavers — yanuary. 



ELL US, O Janus, whom with dual face 
The ancients imasred, as if thus to see 



Before, behind thee, tell us if there be 
Watch-fires of any kind informed with grace 
To melt the mists of doubt that interlace 

And dim our straining vision? 

We would free 

The weaving of the new year's tapestry 
From unknown errors, and from every trace 
Of known defection. 

But, alas ! our light 

Falls only on the pattern, while the thread — 

As though by Gobelin weavers swiftly led. 
Shifting in color, shaded now, now bright — 

Reveals no purpose till the work is done. 

And on the picture shines a rounded sun. 



A STRING OF BEADS. H9 



SECOND BEAD. 



Valentine's Day — Febmary. 




AN, wind-wracked month, of all the months 
most bare 



Of outward beauty or of inward grace ; 
Reserved of ancient custom to efface 

By sacrificial offering, whate'er 

Of taint was held to be the whole year's share — 
One day, at least, thy cold, gray arms embrace, 
That serves to set a dimple in thy face 

And by its fairness make the rest more fair : 

The happy day when birds begin to woo 
And win fond mates, to bless the tiny nest, 
Already modeled in the tinier breast; 

The happy day in which, sweet-heart, for you, 
A rosier tint o'erspreads this breast of mine. 
Sending its message through Saint Valentine. 



I20 A STRING OF BEADS. 



THIRD BEAD 



Promise — March. 



EADY is time beneath her brooding wing, 
To breakj with jubilant life, the brown 
earth's sheath ; 
And fondly do we watch th' expectant heath 
For bloom and song the days are ripe to bring. 

Impatient heralds vaunt the birth of spring, 
While yet, alack ! the winter's blatant breath 
Defieth trust, and coldly shadoweth 

With drifts of gray each hope that dares to sing. 

Yet still we know — as deepest shades foretell 
The coming of the morn ; and lovely sheen 
Of living sunshine lies asleep between 

A frost-bound crust and joys that upward well — 
Know, there is triumph for the yielding shell, 
In ecstacies of song and matchless green ! 



A STRING OF BEADS. 121 



FOURTH BEAD. 



BabyJiood — April. 



URSELING of Mother Nature ! 

Just because 
Thou art a tender child — whose ready tears 
With readier smiles, and ever-present fears 

And transient hopes, are true unto the laws 

That circle babyhood — affection draws 
Our souls to note the gospel that appears 
In thy soft tints, and gently rounding spheres 

Of vital joyousness. 

And thus we jDause 

Delighted with thy game of hide and seek ! 
Roguish thou lift'st a rumpled pinafore 
Of clouds to veil the quick returning store 

Of dewy sunshine, while bright colors speak 
A conscious rapture in the peeping flowers, 

Held close as trophy of the sun and showers. 



122 A STRING OF BEADS. 



FIFTH BEAD. 



Maidenhood — May. 



HE soul of Summer that through April days 
Lay unawakened — like an earth-stayed 
gem 
Fashioned to shine in some rare diadem, 
Yet which for furtherance of creative ways 
Hideth awhile the brightness of its rays — 

Now bursts its bonds ; and stooping to the hem 
Of gentle Spring's soft draperies, kisses them 
To answering beauty. 

Not for larger praise 
Did Aphrodite, with her golden hair 

And sapphire eyes of heaven's reflected sheen, 
Rise fresh and radiant from the tender green 
Of crested waves — though marvelously fair — 
Than girt with smiles which all the air illume 
Sweet May floats in on foam of apple-bloom. 



A STRING OF BEADS. I23 



SIXTH BEAD. 
Motherhood — jfune. 

O more in freshest bloom of Spring she 
stands, 

Timid, with hooded eyes and unbound hair, 
Hark'ning on eager soil a voice which there 
Breathes sweet annunciation ! 

Patient hands 
Treasured the lily. 

Still, the strange commands 
Made tremulous the maiden's heart with care. 

No! not with lowly fear that scarce may dare 
Believe she holds the glory of the lands, 
But, as the radiant woman do we see 
A form superb within the folding blue, 
And cherub-faces smile the roses through ; 
While, queenly, from the mists of morn set free, 
Moves calmly on to golden heights of noon 
The virgin-mother — regal-hearted June ! 



124 A STRING OF BEADS. 



SEVENTH BEAD. 
.Heliotrope — July, 



UR new, west world, the ! Persian's god 
looks on 

Today as in those other days afar, 
Before was felt the influence of the Star 
That waked a holier worship than the Sun. 

Once in each passing year, upon his throne — 
Flashing abroad a glittering scimetar. 
And robed in robes of trailing cinnabar — 

He sits triumphant, yielding sway to none. 

Fruits blushing crimson in. his fervid glance 
Whose warmth has made their happiness com- 
plete, 
Drop down content to languish at his feet. 

And flowers, no colder lover could entrance, 
See in his face the fullness of their hope. 
And smile to hear men call them Heliotrope 



A STRING OF BEADS 1 25 



EIGHTH BEAD 



Pompions — August. 




N dreaded dog-days fervid skies offend ; 
As once the flaming air filled with afright 
Apollo's horses, which, not reined aright - 
Chafed, and with snorting nostrils that distend, 
Threatened the world with pyrotechnic end. 

— ^^ Mayhap 'twas Sirius's bark and bite 
That quelled young Phaeton's fatuous delight. 
And bade his hope with fear of Tophet blend ! 

Truly it seemeth so ; for these are days 
When sere the air is with sirocco-heat : 
The shrunken field lies parched beneath the feet ; 

The languid corn too listless is for praise ; 

Yet, still, praise strikes a key-note brilliant, bold. 
While pompions redden into globes of gold. 



126 A STRING OF BEADS. 



NI NTH BEAD . 
Sabbath Rest — September} 




OST holy of the numbers, sacred seven! 
— Which reverently the ancient sages held, 
And by thy hidden charm the music swelled 
Of rare old prophecies and songs of heaven — 
We wonder, yet the secret have not riven 
(So closely are the mysteries sentineled) 
If only by the calendar compelled. 
Thy sign of grace unto this month was given. 

Rather, we think, a fair connection lies 

Between the blessedness of Sabbath peace — 
When all of labor finds divine surcease, 
The while rich incense rises to the skies — 

And that sweet rest from summer's burdened 

days 
Which makes the ripe year now yield seven-fold 
praise. 



* Formerly September was the seventh month. 



A STRING OF BEADS. 1 27 



TENTH BEAD. 



Royal Obseqtcies — October. 



BRILLIANT phalanx fills the welkin's ring, 
Gathered the fair queen's death to cele- 
brate ; 
And royal answers to the doom of fate, 
Proudly, long serried lines in honor bring. 

A plaintive requiem the songsters sing; 
Low, beating drums upon the singers wait; 
And scarlet sashes and gay plumes vibrate 

With martial splendor, where the maples swing. 

It is the queen's, fair Summer's, exequies. 
Which grand October signals kingly-wise : 
Tears scarce escape his brave yet saddened 
eyes; 

Yet, yielding tribute, drinks he of the lees 
Of joy, full stately — smiling that o'er all 
This blight of beauty drops so rich a pall. 



128 A STRING OF BEADS. 



ELEVENTH BEAD 



Aftermath — November. 




E travel joyously an open path, 

Where golden-rod and purple asters glow — 

We two together — and with clasped hands go, 
Not noting the low sun that shadoweth : 
Scarce note we anything save what each hath 

Of sympathetic joy in each ; when lo ! 

A hillock parts us, and in darkness, slow, 
One walks alone. 

♦ Who talks of aftermath ? — 

Of dreams like those begotten of the haze 

Of Indian Summer — when time's languid sense 

Is stirred by memory of the life intense 
Once lived with June in her divinest days- — 

Dreams that but cheat the soul with idle thrall, 
Since Death, November, shivers through them all. 



A STRING OF BEADS. 1 29 



TWELFTH BEAD. 



Christmas — December. 




HITE month — whose stars fall showering 
from the skies, 
Turning to snowflakes in the frosty air — 
We love thee, not alone that thou art fair, 

Shining upon us with innumerous eyes 

Of earth as heaven ; since, too, under lies 
A milky-way — holding within its snare 
The Summer's Flora, folded now with care, 

And brimming with new stars for Spring's surprise ! 

But, also 'tis, that one supremest star — 

The star that taught the shepherds best to sing 
And by its watchful, holy ministering, 

Led unto truth the wise men from afar — 
Concenters its rare brightness in thy zone, 
And makes the Child-King ours ; our very own ! 



DEFENSE OF SANTA GLAUS. 




HO calleth me old ? Heigho ! Not so ! 
J I am young as the joy I bring; 
And joy is as fresh as the dawn, we know, 
And as rosy and Hght of wing. 

The beard that so shaggy you think and gray. 
Is but frosted with feathery snow, 

And glows, through the sifting, as brown today, 
As it did long years ago. 

My cheek is as red and my eye as blue — 
And my steeds as merrily start — 

As when in the olden time I knew 
The way to each little one's heart. 

'Tis almost two thousand years, I think. 

Since, Christendom all astir, 
I tackled my team and was off in a wink 

As the King's interpreter. 

130 



DEFENSE OF SANTA CLAUS. I31 

Some say I am older in years than that; 

For they read on a heathen page 
Of the world's great history, that I sat 

At the feast of the " Golden Age." 

But if it be so, I have never the time 

To waste upon chronicled dates; 
'Tis enough for me that my bells must chime, 

And my sled on the roof-tree waits. 

The whole of the year, from beginning to end, 

I am busy in filling my pack. 
With the beautiful things that the seasons send 

On the wheel of the Zodiac. 

And whether or not you call me old. 

It changes this truth no whit: 
That love may forever and aye unfold, 

Yet never grow old a bit. 

Today, as in winters of "auld lang syne," 

A wassail cup holds for me 
The rollicking cheer of as red a wine ; 

While under the mistletoe tree, 



132 DEFENSE OF SANTA CLAUS. 

As damaging still is Cupid's dart — 
Still as sweet the dear one's lips ; 

And never the Yule-log's flaming heart 
Can the light of my own eclipse ! 



So do not believe I am growing old — 

That I lag with a listless gait : 
No! Santa Claus warms as the days grow cold; 

And he speeds — for the children wait. 

Tirra-lirra f Heigho ! The blithesome bells 
Ring out as the clouds they cleave ; 

And happiness, smiling to meet them, tells 
That again it is Christmas-Eve. 




BETWEEN THE YEARS 




E stand upon the bourn, my soul and I, 
Of this year's sea, and mark great ships 
make haste 
To pass beyond, and charm the crystal waste 
Of sea untried ; and standing so, we sigh 
To note no ship of ours careering by, 

Worthily freighted and with full sails graced. 
And yet because the two seas are embraced 
By one wide arching span of hopeful sky, 
We do not quite despair who are so poor: 
But climbing by our faith the bridge of blue, 
We see the chasm passed — we see our feet 
Planted upon the New Year's smiling shore ; 
And there innumerable ships that woo 
The earnest seeker to an empire sweet. 

133 



TO THE YELLOW LILY 




TATELY yellow lily, 
In the narrow bound 
Of a country garden, 

Tell me, have you found 
Answer to the riddle 

Which we fain would guess 
Placed however lowly 
To find happiness ? 



Splendid yellow lily. 

Know you not your worth ? 
Surely you inherit 

Rights of royal birth : 
Such brown lashes, never 

Fringed plebeian eyes — 
Never such high presence 

Was a menial's guise : 

134 



TO THE YELLOW LILY. 135 

Never, never, fragrance 

So completely full, 
Lived to mock beginnings 

Underbred and dull ; 
Yet in homeliest garden 

Weed-grown to the knee, 
Open-hearted, regal, 

You bloom goldenly. 



Tell me, tell me truly. 

Is it that your faith 
Bids you follow duly. 

What the master saith ? 
Is it that you've listened 

To his love's behest — 
Learning that the places 

Of his choice are best ? 



Yes ; yet more, brave lily. 
Know I why you shine 

In the humblest garden 
With a face divine — 



136 MY BABY. 

Pouring out your sweetness 
Pure and rich and free : 

God is in all nature, 
And his face you see. 



MY BABY. 

TO O. J. AND J. A. J. 




BABY, my baby, my. darling! 
As I ponder my newly-won bliss, 
As I bask in thy beautiful being. 

And kiss thee with kiss upon kiss, 
I marvel how earth ever charmed me, 

With joys that I dreamed were divine- 
Joys now that I measure as human, 
Since this one I know is divine ! 



MY BABY. 137 

baby, my cherub, my darling ! 

Whose "coo" is the sweetest of things; 

1 wonder if ever such music, 

So perfect, was born without wings : 
I tremble with rapture to listen, 

So dread I the pinions — ah, me ! 
But no ! the good God is no mocker — 

He gave thee, sweet baby, to me. 



O baby, my queen and my darling. 

Thou rulest and liftest me so. 
Exalting my soul to its highest, 

God gave thee thy scepter, I know ; 
From Him, in his uppermost heavens, 

Thou earnest to us like a star. 
And the light of thee leadeth us upward 

And onward as leadeth a star. 



O baby, my baby, my darling ! 

Queen, cherub and star though thou be. 
No sign to express thee seems worthy 

While thou art all sweetness to me ! 



138 YES OR NO? 

In thy voice is the song of the morning; 

In thy fingers is touch of dehght ; 
In thy smile is the beauty of sunshine ; 

In thyself — oh, thyself is delight ! 

Dear baby, my baby, my darling! 

Love, love is incarnate at last — 
The love that was thrilled into promise, 

The love that grew strong as it passed 
Into blossom so mystic and holy — 

We give it the sweet name of child — 
Two beings in one made completer: 

A baby — our darling, our child ! 



YES OR NO? 

AFTER A PICTURE OF MILLAIS. 




AY, shall it be Yes ? O tell me. Sun, 
Ere you sink in the west so low — 
You never are troubled with doubts, not one- 
Say, shall it be Yes or No ? 



YES OR NO ? 139 

The Sun goes down to his resting place, 

And the Stars their faces show : 
O Stars, that glorify all the space, 

Pray, shall it be Yes or No ? 

But Stars have no sympathy, none at all, 

A-cold in their far-off glow, 
And they only mock at me when I call, 

" Shall I answer him Yes or No ? " 

Not even a bird on his homeward wins: 

Will a comforting note bestow. 
And I listen in vain for his voice to sing 

An echoing Yes or No. 

The bird has a mate in the maple's nest. 
Who is waiting his love-song. . . . Lo! 

There is something astir in my wakened breast 
That is rather like Yes than No. 

And as nowhere outside of yourself, my heart, 

Is the word that will help you, so 
You shall look within for the tender art 

To answer him Yes or No. 



LOVE'S AFTERNOON: A SONG 




AY, nay, you need not speak, love, 
Of graces that have flown : 
'Twere vain I think to seek, love, 

For more than now you own. 

You say your glance was brighter 

In the hopeful days of spring — 

That your weary step was lighter 

Ere the early bird took wing. 



It may be, love, it may be, 

But we do not waste a tear 
On wood-violets, when the ruby 

Of the rich June rose is near ; 
And richer than June roses 

Is the golden harvest-field 
Where the later sun discloses 

But a part of what's concealed. 
140 



LOVES AFTERNOON: A SONG. 14I 

You tell me you were fairer 

In the days from trouble free, 
What time sad lines were rarer 

On your thoughtful face to see ; 
That your lip knew quicker thrilling 
To the soft breath of the south, 
\ When with dawn's sweet music trilling 

I It laid tribute on your mouth. 



Well, grant it be the truth, love, 

That fondness makes me blind. 
While I question if your youth, love, 

Showed charms I fail to find. 
Yet, never did the morning. 

In all its roseate pride. 
Wear half the bright adorning 

Of the glorious sunset-tide. 



You say the rarest juices 

Of your heart have all been spilled 
By its lees then for life's uses 

Is my own supremely filled. 



142 LOVE AMONG THE GRAVES. 

What if purple bloom and yellow 
Have gone out in wasted wine — 

Still, we know the fruit most mellow 
Is the longest on the vine ! 



LOVE AMONG THE GRAVES 



WENTY years ago, in gladsome weather, 
In this silent city's woodland bound, 



Love and I with buoyant step together, 

Careless wandered round — 
Wandered round and through the winding alleys, 

Brave with arbor-vitas, woodbine, rose, 
Fragrant on the hills and in the valleys, 

Of the sacred close. 

Little recked we of the mystic meaning 

(Hidden under blue forget-me-nots) 
Of the tear-sown seeds of heavenly gleaning 

In these garden plots — 



LOVE AMONG THE GRAVES. 1 43 

Little recked we of diviner blessing 

Than our spring-time ! Plaintive sorrow's face 
Little moved us in the fond caressing 

Of our soul's embrace. 



In the quickened flash of answering glances, 

In the tender touch of loving hands, 
In the joyous pulse that gaily dances 

As love's flower expands — 
In our full absorption, could we listen 

To low minor tones, and we so glad? 
Something in our eyes made tears to glisten. 

But they were not sad. 



No ! the fount of love's o'erflowing treasure 

Is not bitter — and our heart's relief 
Was as bright dew merely, in the measure 

Of the chaliced grief 
Which encompassed us in carven glory — 

Here and there, a simple myrtle boss 
Telling with more pathos the same story 

Of some aching loss. 



144 LOVE AMONG THE GRAVES. 

Fair, a sculptured city rose before us — 

Green, the grasses tricked the buried gloom ; 
After twenty years what may restore us 

That pervading bloom ? 
Now, the lifted shafts make level shadows 

With the graves they cover in their pride ; 
All the starry wealth of the green meadows 

Serves not Death to hide. 



Yet the city stands today as whitely, 
- Lifting myriad columns to the sun, 
And the same rare blossoms smile as brightly 

Fragrant, every one : 
But our lives are shadowed by their losses ; 

Earthly treasure shows its taint of rust ; 
And not vain the storied stone embosses 

Its imprisoned dust. 



Now, the shrouded meaning helps to hold us- 
Not alone the beauty overlaid — 

As maturer influences fold us, 
Mingling shine and shade. 



RETRIEVAL. I45 

Now, no more as once in sunny weather, 
Twenty years ago among the sweets. 

Could unmindful Love and I together 
Tread these wooded streets ! 



RETRIEVAL 




KNOW a life whose dawn was heralded 
By just such rosy smile and golden gift 



As upland summits to the day-god lift, 
When orient messages fly overhead. 
And flushed is all below with liquid red. 

And, like the swelling hours when o'er them 

swift 
Forecasting clouds are made to drift. 

Was this life's noon with shadow overspread: — 



146 IN EGYPT. - 

About its patient wall of effort lay 

A pallid mist, through which no eye could 
peer; 
And none could think but that the close of day 

Would find it still devoid of any cheer : 
Behold, athwart the heavens a rubied ray ! 

Now, hill and vale transfused with joy appear. 



IN EGYPT. 
I. ' 



" Tell me, O Charmian, if ever I 
Loved Ccesar so ? " 




"■S well assert there be 
Of spring-time blossoms such as royally 



Lift conscious heads with summer's bloom to vie, 

As thus the earlier bond to magnify ! 

The dawning fragrance of that love's degree 
To this, I bear the peerless Antony, 



IN EGYPT. 147 

Was as the primrose-scent when musk is nigh ; 
Or, as the palHd sheen of yon pure pearl, 

To this rare diamond's iridescent gleam ; 
Or, play of light the glow-worm may unfurl, 

To that which breaks the heavens with lucent 
stream : 
I tell thee^ Charmian, the chrysalid girl 

Loved, but as callow moths of plumage dream ! 

II. 

Not seeing Antony, I might have died, 

As I had lived, mate to a kingly soul ; 

Believing of life's best the utmost whole 
Was my full portion as brave Caesar's bride ; 
Might well have deemed my passion satisfied. 

Who shared with him imperial control 

Of earthly grandeur — ignorant of a goal 
Yet unconceived by our exultant pride ! 
But, seeing Antony and touched by fire 

Of his free spirit, quickening fire to flame, 
All else is ashes — while the soul's desire, 

Escaping in white heat that puts to shame 
Ambition's grosser elements, mounts higher 

Than love called love has ever made its aim. 



148 IN EGYPT. 

III. 

O Charmian, I never knew the day 

Of tender longing as the Caesar's bride — 
Of weary yearning parted from his side ! 

Enough to cheer me then, and doubt gainsay, 

Was the bhthe singing of some roundelay, 
Or, the inflowing of a perfumed tide 
Of luxury my kingdom could provide. 

Or any magic, fancy might essay. 

But now, I court a Lethe-folding sleep — 
For song and mocking pageantry have lost 

Their charm to charm me since far Rome can 
keep 
The lover I would hold at any cost ; 

Whom to bring back the sacrifice were cheap 
That a world's men and means should all ex- 
haust. 

IV. 

Then, Charmian, beware whom thou dost laud 
As proudest winner in life's royal race ! 
He is most brave who longest holds the grace 

Of Egypt's queen — and looms for her a god 



INCONSISTENCY. 1 49 

Where only mortal feet have erstwhile trod ; 

Who rises to the topmost romid of place, 

Circled in Egypt's triumphing embrace — 
Her service swayed by his divinest nod. 
So, no more vaunting of my vernal pledge ! 

I hate the intrusion of a thought that bates, 
Though but by dull comparison, the edge 

Of love's sweet trial in this time that waits 
Effulgent with love's sun. 'Tis sacrilege 

To turn to shadows while the noontide sates. 



INCONSISTENCY. 



IS strange how superstitions yet enchain 

A priest-bewildered people, heart and 

brain " — 
Said Harry to his chum a trifle older — 

" 'Tis strange, so very strange ! " 



150 A LEGEND OF FREITENBERG. 

Just then the moon 
Threw softest radiance over Harry's shoulder: 
— Clink went his pocket change. 

"How opportune," 
He cried, "this chance to see the new moon' 

light 
Propitiously, while looking to the right." 



A LEGEND OF FREITENBERG 



ICTURE a quaint, old, German town 

To panic stirred, 

By terrible word 
That the ruthless French were coming down 

Right into the town — 

On their homeward way 

From a Russian fray — 
A hated and dreaded vandal herd. 



A LEGEND OF FREITENBERG. 151 

Quicker than flame from street to street, 

The dire news ran ; 
While loaded wagons and hurrying feet 

Betrayed a plan 
For flight, 
'Ere night, . 

From homes that soon 

'Neath a clouded moon, 
Would be stormed and plundered ; and fired may be. 

To sate a bestial revelry. 



On a by-way off from the leading stmssc, 
In a house that told of a better day. 

Dwelt a comely lad and a lovely lass, 

With their grandam, feeble and old and gray. 



The maid had a lover who pleaded well 

To bear them all to a safer place; 
But the grandam's gaze on the hearthstone fell, 
And she softly said, with a solemn face : 
*' My years are old. 
And the night is cold ; 



152 A LEGEND OF FREITENBERG. 

The Lord is here, and I trust his grace. 
Yet you, dear children, may go or stay — 
The arm of the Lord is strong alway." 

Vain was the lover's pleading art ; 

The girl, with a blanched cheek bade him go, 
And comfort his anxious mother's heart 
Who waited the d.&2cc frauds will to know. 
Oh, hark ! did they hear the coming foe. 
Or, was it the noise of a rumbling wain ? 

The boy's eye kindled — he grasped his gun ; 
But he laid it back in its place again. 
As the grandain spoke : "Nay, only One 
Can help us, child ! 
No strength of ours 
Will lay the tempest, if once it lowers ; 

But we can pray — " 
And she prayed from the Holy Scriptures' word ■ — 
" Oh, ' give us help from trouble,' Lord, 
' For vain is the help of man.' 
Oh, hear and help us, Thou, who can — 
That undefiled, 
We here may stay, 
Safe, till the dawn of another day. 



A LEGEND OF FREITENBERG. 1 53 

Now, surely, the trumpet is heard afar ! 

The boy from the window gazes forth ; 
But all is dark ; no moon, no star. 

Save starry flakes from the windy north — 
Soft flakes that rest on the window-glass. 
As apple-bloom on the meadow-grass. 
•" Come, sister, see, 
How the street below 
Is white already with fallen snow ! " 

But, silently, 
She drops the curtain and stirs the fire, 
For the dear, old grandmother feels the cold. 
Ah, fire is bold : 
The flames mount higher. 
Too high for the fears of the prisoned fold ; 
So they deaden the glare of the glowing flame, 

And, wrapped for warmth in each other's arms. 
Wait, strengthened by trust in the Holy Name, 
Whatever may come of the night's alarms. 



Again the trumpet — but now 'tis dawn — 
The trumpet foretelling the foe's retreat. 
The crimson curtain is gently drawn, 



154 A LEGEND OF FREITENBERG. 

And wistful eyes look out, to greet 
Something betwixt them and the street : 

Oh, strange and new . 

The sight in view. 
That holds the maiden in pleased amaze ! 

'Tis a wall of white. 

That was built last night, 
Blocking with ice the entrance-ways 

To the old frau's home : 

The foe had come, 
And the foe had gone ; but not before 
They had tracked the snow in the byway o'er 

With heavy feet 

What was it then, 

Had stayed these men 
From devil's work in the house up there, 
But God's sure answer to faithful prayer? 




THE FALSE KING AND TRUE. 




RRAYED in purple pride of royalty, 
And coursing onward at the whirlwind's pace, 
He nears the yielding limits of my place ; 
Flung to the breeze his amber locks flow free, 
And though not fair within, the radiancy 
Of conquering beauty glows upon his face : 
Lo ! 'tis the tempter — and, through echoing space, 
I hear, "Behold, thy King comes unto thee." 



Not so ! One cometh on a humbler steed. 
And while he bears no outward royal sign. 

No purple trappings — no, nor anything 
To lure the senses — yet, for every need 
I know him potent, since he is divine : 

'Tis he, and he alone, who is the King. 

155 



MOTHER-L OVE 



HEN spring is young and violets bloom, 
And rills go laughing on their way, 



When hearts keep more of sun than gloom, 

And life is just an April-day, 
Then girl and boy in tender troth — 

Daisies beneath them, stars above — 
Believe to them alone, to both. 

Is given the perfect flower of love. 



What time the summer lifts its rose. 

That flushes with the pulse of June, 
And down the vale the message goes 

Of wedding-bells in blissful tune. 
The pair, grown happier with the days, 

Look back and see 'twas only seed. 
That spring-time love which won their praise, 

Since now they clasp love's flower indeed ! 
156 



SURSUM CORDA. 157 

Yet neither season knows the life 

Of Autumn, in the yellow grain ; 
Or grape with amber juices rife — 

Knows not its power for joy or pain ; 
No untried soul the passion feels 

That stirs the mother's burdened breast, 
Whose wounded child through her reveals 

The strength of Love's divine bequest. 



SURSUM CORDA. 
** For the fashion of this world passeth away." 



11 



OLD it up, and lay it away, 
That silken kerchief of rosy gleam : 
You thought it would heighten your charms for 

him. 
And bring to his smile a softer beam ; 
But smiles like kisses oft betray — 
Fold it up, Maiden, and lay it away. 



158 SURSUM CORD A. 

II. 

Fold it up, and lay it away, 
The delicate veil with its orange-bloom ; 
The rose and the lily must fade in gloom 
Of time that waits with a silent tomb — 
Footprints of care will mark the way, 
Fold it up, Bride, and lay it away. 

III. 

Fold it up, and lay it away, 
The golden curl by the baby worn : 
Too soon he will reach his manhood's morn 
And a newer love than thine be born 

To sun itself in the shining ray! 

Fold it up. Mother, and lay it away. 

IV. 

Fold it up, and lay it away — 
The love that has blest some exquisite hours ; 
Thorns there were many; fewer the flowers, 
Yet sweet and glowing as sun-swept showers — 
As ready 'with sorrow and joy as they : 
Fold* it up, Heart, and lay it away. 



SURSUM CORDA. 



V. 



159 



Fold it up, and lay it away — 
Each relic so precious of kindliest thought; 
Each trifle so priceless with memory fraught ; 
Each heart-throb whose image on paper was caught : 

Too sensitive now for light of the day, 

Fold it up. Soul, and lay it away. 

VI. 

Fold it up, and lay it away: — 
Dream of the maiden, all roseate bright; 
Dream of the bride, in visions so white ; 
Dream of the mother, ere tears dim her sight; 
Dream of the soul, while yet lingers light; 

Change is predestined — the World must decay, 

Fold it up, Spirit, and lay it away. 




THE MYSTIC BARGE. 




GAIN the certain messenger 
Is close upon our shadowed shore, 
And the low message is for her 

Whose tender love has heretofore 
Been first to offer healing balm, 
And bid our troubled souls be calm. 

The black barge on the river steers 
With sure advance we all can see, 

And not a hope is left to fears 
That, trembling, wait expectantly 

Beside the brink fpr that alarm 

Which signals Death's enfolding arm. 

How every oar*s slow sweep we dread 
That brings him nearer none can know. 

Save those whose hearts like ours have bled 
Through love's discouraged, helpless woe — 

For none beside can feel the pain 

Of love that knows its power is vain. 

1 60 



THE MYSTIC BARGE. l6l 

And Oh, the fear that Death may grasp 
Our dear one with a rude embrace, 

And we shall see his iron clasp 
Too cruel imaged on her face ! — 

Father, to thy dark angel say, 

" Bear gently this my child away." 

(And he must heed, and he must touch 
With tenderest soothing her tired eyes — 

And we shall know that just for such 
As she, who in his strong arm lies, 

Were meant those words of comfort deep, 

" He giveth his beloved sleep.") 

Father, give ear to us, who pray. 

As once the Holy Supplicant, 
That thou may'st take this cup away 

Of added bitterness ; and grant 
To her soft sailing into rest, 
And blissful landing: 'mid the blest! 



^fc> 



Then we can bear to let her go. 
Though missing in our daily walk 



l62 SPIRIT-PRESENCE. 

The faithful love that helped us so — 

The voice that cheered with hopeful talk- 
Yes, then — but now, with quivering breath 
We wait the nearing barge of death. 



SPIRIT-PRESENCE. 



[^ 



E bow the head and stand aloof 
Who think a ghostly presence near; 
Who dread th' unbodied soul's reproof 

For faults that cling about us here — 
That hold us still in error's thrall 
While heavenly life is freed from all. 

We crave the presence, yet in doubt 
If love can smile the while it sees 

In clearer light our flecks, without 
The veil that partly covered these. 

When in our mingling, heart with heart, 

We knew, but only knew in part. 



SPIRIT-PRESENCE. 1 63 

Small wonder that we hide the face 

From one who sees with quickened sight — 

And that we long for some sweet grace 
To lift us to a level height 

With risen souls ! O God, forgive, 

In whose clear sight each day we live. 



Lo ! 'tis of Thy forgiving love, 

And that through Thee the ransomed look, 
We are not scorned by saints above, 

Who, pitying, all our follies brook ; . 
And who, All-seeing light within, 
Grow more compassionate of our sin. 



And so, as gentle as before, 
A very guardian o'er my days, 

I see one smile grow more and more 
Indulgent of my failing ways — 

I smile return : but quick is shed 

The gloom that folds the silent dead. 



FREE WILL 



I. 



HE river glideth not at its sweet will : 
The fountain sends it forth, 
And answering to earth's finger doth it still 
Go East, West, South, or North. 



II. 

The soul alone hath perfect liberty 
To wend its own free way; 

And only as it wills to follow Thee, 
O Lord; it findeth day. 




164 



LET GLASGOW FLOURISH." 

THE ANCIENT MOTTO OF GLASGOW. 




'TWAS a labor worthy him 

Whose effort pierced the cloister's dim 



Uncertain ways ; who probed the cells 
Of legal-guarded hells; 

Whose genius cleaves each rotten creed — 
The large-souled, earnest-natured Reade — 
To lead us up in tribute meet 
To leal, old Lambert's feet. 

Life-saver, swimmer, diver bold, 
He braved the flood, or dark or cold. 
And victims from its ruth he bore 
As never man before. 

Full oft the river breweth dole 
From Ru'glen Brig to Dominie's Hole ; 
And not by lure of pits alone 
But mill-dyes hotly sown ! 

i6s 



l66 "let GLASGOW FLOURISH." 

To Lambert scores of bosoms owed 
The breath Promethean-wise bestowed; 
'Ere faint from icy seas to light 
He rose with darkened sight. 

Then, did they give him love for love ? 
. Did service spring their love to prove ? 
Said he, that simple man and wise, 
"With me a great debt lies." 

And so, they turned them from tlie weight 
Of thanks far easier owed to fate: 
While he — he sees not even the scene 
Where his sweet toil has been. 

Yet long as flows the river Clyde 
Above the deeds it strives to hide, 
Shall murmurous waves repeat his name 
In dulcet notes of fame. 

The waters flowing in excess 
Shall speak the blinded man's distress, 
When daft a drowning lad to save, 
Friends held him from the wave. 



INTERCHANGE. 1 67 

And long as swells the Scottish tongue, 
Though England first the story sung, 
Shall Glasgow's streets the tale renew, 
Of one so brave and true. 



INTERCHANGE. 



" We cannot live except thus mutually 
We alternate, aware or unaware, 
The reflex act of life." 



WEET child of the snow-drift, so tenderly 
simple. 

So tearfully sunny, so modestly gay, 
Whose frown in a moment gives place to a dimple, 
Whose smiles and whose frowns meet in magical 
way — 



1 68 A MAYING. 

Why bringest thou blossoms my gateway to garland, 
Why spreadest a verdurous sheen at my feet, 

Why makest the meadows a marvelous star-land, 
My coming with undisguised rapture to greet?" 

"O Juno-like Summer, yet couched on thy roses. 

Whose sweet-scented crimson awaits thee to fold, 
I come from the bloom that the apple discloses 

To fetch thee from Winter thy heirloom of gold. 
He made me the cradle in which I lay covered — • 

Thy sweet-scented breath blew the cover away : 
Behind me, before me, love ever has hovered, 

And I love's reciprocal law but obey." 



A MAYING. 



IS come — the lovely May-time 
.BJ| Arbutus trails the ground — 
Its incense rare perfumes the air, 
And violets abound; 



A MAYING. 169 



The breath of song is everywhere ; 

The star-set grass is gay, 
That ushers in the playtime 

Of one sweet day in May. 



Not troops of schoolmates merely, 

But other folk than these 
Hear, thrilling all, the season's call 

To picnic under trees. 
Soft showers of apple-blossoms fall, 

Like snows, upon the way — 
Is winter back ? No ; clearly 

*Tis merry, mocking May. 



So, each one takes a hamper 

Of wholesome things and good. 
From which to pour a generous store 

At noontime in the wood ; 
'Tis fun to spread the table o'er. 

But better fun to stay 
With boys and girls that scamper 

In life befitting May. 



I7P A MAYING. 

The time is out of fashion 

When May-queens ruled the hour; 
When Floras prone before the throne 

Laid gifts of bud and flower; 
Such feudal form is overgrown 

In this our freer day, 
When we with equal passion 

Crown, each, our own in May. 



Too quick the day is ending 

With all its pleasure keen; 
The hampers glow with gathered show 

Of blossoms mixed with green ; 
And now the sunset bids us go — 

The world is clad in gray — 
Yet, bright hope lives befriending: — 

" There'll come another May." 




BABY GRACE 



TO G. W, H. 




UR baby Grace 
Has the fairest face 
In the babies' fairest list : 
Eyes violet-blue 
Just touched with dew, 
And cheeks by the angels kissed. 

Her tiny hand 

Is of sure command, 
Though her glance is shy the while ; 

And her lips, rose-pink, 

Are as sweet we think 
As seraphim's when they smile. 

Like the olden god* 
Who watched the sod. 



^ The Scandinavian god, Heimdal. 

171 



172 BABY GRACE. 

And heard the blossoms blow, 

We lay an ear 

Our darling near, 
And fancy we hear her grow. 

Her pure soul then 
To our quickened ken. 

Seems swelling in tune beneath ; 
As the garden bloom 
And its rich perfume 

Is sung by the budding sheath. 

Oh, our baby Grace 

Has the sweetest face 
In the whole wide world today; 

At least it is so 

To us you know. 
And nobody says us "Nay." 




THANKSGIVING HYMN.— 1876 



OR zephyr, tempest, sunshine, rain, 
And all the elemental host 



Of blessings, though disguised as pain, 

And for the pain, it may be, most, 
We thank Thee, Father, once again. 



Upon this new Thanksgiving Day, 
We consecrate afresh to thee 

Our gifts; and on thine altar lay 
The fragrant fruit of liberty. 

Whose purple clusters arch our way. 



The increase came from Thee alone ; 

And though we plant and water still, 
Thou, only Thou, Almighty One, 

The cup of our desire canst fill, 
In wisdom's freer, purer sun. 

. 173 



174 A THANKSGIVING HYMN. 1876. 

O, shrive us of each gathered sin — 

The tares upspringing 'mid our wheat — . 

And let Thy beauty pierce within 
Our shadowy copses ; and Thy feet 

Restore the ground where wrong has been. 

Let Right grow great a hundredfold, 
Whose seed a century since upbore ; 

Let root and branch more strong, more bold, 
Spread healing leaves a larger store. 

And gracious shelter long uphold. 

For greater hope, beyond the good 
Already ours, we thank Thee, Lord; 

And thankful are that unsubdued, 

Whilst sore beset has been Thy Word, 

Our faith has each new foe withstood. 

But speech may scarce avail to pour 
To Thee the worship of our hearts. 

Whose incense breaks from sea and shore 
In Nature's triumphs and in Art's, 

Taught of Thy spirit to adore. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 1 75 

And since unmeet a single tongue 
To voice Thee on our day of days, 

O, bid that day to shine among 
Whatever Hves to laud thy ways, 

And praise be so forever sung. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



HERE'S a shimmer in the sunshine, 
Such as never shone before ; 



In the sky the blue is bluer 
Than the heavens ever wore; 

On the bay the water glistens 
With the purest skyey sheen, 

And the frosted sails seem whiter 
Than the whitest ever seen. 



176 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

There is something in the voices 

Of the people that we meet, 
Overtopping with soft music 

Any discord of the street. 
Through the house the sounds are merry- 

Both in low and upper hall — 
And a stranger might be puzzled 

Quite to comprehend it all. 



But we know, we happy Christians, 

As we greet the cheerful morn, 
That the world took on new beauty 

When the infant Christ was born; 
And his birthday gladly keeping 

Unto us it is not strange, 
That, made conscious of his presence, 

Common things to fairer change. 



And that every newer Christmas 
Brings delight that's ever new; 

To the little ones grown wiser. 
And their elders wiser too. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 177 

For we learn, however slowly, 

This evangel of the Christ: 
That true love becomes the ruler 

When self-love is sacrificed. 



Oh, 'tis love that gilds the sunshine ; 

Love that paints the sky more blue ; 
Love that floods the streets with music 

As the people jostle through ; 
Love that makes the storm seem kindly, 

And the wind a cheery friend; 
Love that scatters feast of riches, 

While it gathers without end. 



Oh, 'tis love that leads our voices 

To the singing of fresh songs, 
Though they only tell old sweetness 

That to Christmas-tide belongs — 
Though they but repeat old carols, 

Full of gratefulness and praise, 
For the ■ crowning of the seasons 

With the joy of Christmas days. 



A CENTURY OLD. 

NEW year's eve (1876). 




ARK — the long, continuous swells 



I Of the old and new years' bells! 
Borne upon the midnight air, 
Breaking through the torchlight glare, 
Bearing over spire and vane, 
Over mountain, over plain. 
Freedom's song is grandly rolled — 
Freedom's song a century old. 

Never pealed such bells before, 
Ringing clear from shore to shore : 
From Atlantic's crested surge 
To the broad Pacific's verge ; 
From Canadian forest's snow, 
To the Gulf Stream's tropic flow — 
Ringing brave and ringing bold 
Freedom's song a century old. 
178 



A CENTURY OLD. 179 

Other years to gloom have stept, 
And for them our hearts have wept; 
But for this — in which a flower 
Whitely crowns the waning hour, 
Spreading fragrance far and near — 
Have we only smiles and cheer: 
For these dying hours unfold 
Freedom's plant a century old. 



Sun and rain the roots have fed; 
Toil to pleasure has been wed 
In the care its growth has known ; 
Rises from the sod a moan 
Where the dews of carnage fell; 
But, o'er all, rare blossoms swell 
Fair-leaved with a heart of gold, 
Bloom of seed a century old. 



Comes the new year lordly in, 
Claiming pure descent from kin 
Wise and firm in freedom's way: 
Not the creature of a day. 



l8o CLOUD-SEERS. 

Poising unaccustomed wings 
Is the liberty he brings — 
No; these bells by use uphold 
Freedom, now a century old ! 

Bravery in the message dwells 
Of our sweet Centennial bells ; 
While, to heavenly concert brought 
By the larger freedom wrought 
In these days that we behold, 
Echoing voices long foretold 
Ring, in triumph uncontrolled, 
Freedom's praise a century old ! 
Philadelphia, December j/, 18^6. 



CLOUD-SEERS. 
" Miserable comforters are ye all." 




UT of. my sunshine! Leave to me, pray, 
The saving light of a hopeful soul; 



Guerdon the richest that's given away, 
Meted with that, is a meager dole. 



GLOUD-SEERS. l8l 

Gladness is mine of its golden right — 

Spare me the friend whose foreboding tale 

Croaks in the sun of the curtained night, 
And grieves the noon in the narrow vale. 

Waiting no prophecy, darkness weaves 
Mystery's meshes of wind and rain. 

Today is blest in its amber sheaves — 
Time is not come for the coming pain. 

Faileth in season the fruits, each one ; 

Faileth the gift that we guard with care — ■ 
Even our life-blood. Still the sun 

Is warming my path ; pray, stand not there ! 

" Out of my sunshine ! " Never was ring 

Of truer metal than rings in these 
Words, that were hurled at a gracious king, 

By the kingly soul of Diogenes. 

Out of my sunshine ! Tune me no tune 

In the minor notes of the mourning throng; 

Leave to me rather the beggar's boon 
Of a glowing sun and a grateful song. 



i82 "wait a wee, an' dinna weary." 

Cannot you see it is peace and health — 

Wine of a better than best to me ? 
That friendship and honor, fame and wealth 

Lie hidden in hope's fertility? 

That blessings are born of the soul's good cheer? 

That spirits despondent, pale and wan. 
Faint in the famine begot of fear? 

Then out of my sunshine, quick, begone! 



WAIT A WEE, AN' DINNA 
WEARY." 




VILLAGE school-room — this the scene 
Aglow with a slant sun cheery : 
A dominie there of youthful mien, 
With the sword of his spirit sharp and keen ; 
And a class of girls in serried row. 
Some taller, and some of stature low, 
And some like the dawning sun, afire 
To reach the summit of brave desire ; 
And, as aye, some unco' dreary! 



"wait a wee, an' dinna weary." 183 

" I canna an' winna teach, an' ye 

Sae stupid the while I query — 
Nae vision for ocht but vanity ! " 
With thundering rap the dominie 
Out-blurted, chafed by a listless girl, 
Whose only care seemed to smooth and twirl 
Her apron streamers. "Will onie lass 
Mak' answer in a' this glaikit class ? " 

The dominie sighed aweary. 

"Oh, ay," said a little one, "I can tell." 

" Weel, out wi't, then, my dearie " — 
And the frown from the master's forehead fell. 
For the sweetest girl in the school was Nell — 
" I want ye to show me the meaning plain 
O' patience ; sin' ow'r an' ow'r again 
I've put it this day ! " Then the little maid, 
With a roguish twinkle soberly said : 
" Waif a wee^ an'' dinna wea?y !''"' 




INDIAN SUMMER. 




HO is the maiden with a cup 
Of gold between her finger tips, 
Its amber fruitage lifted up 

To meet the crimson of her lips ? 
She pledges with a winsome grace 
The lovers kneeling at her feet, 
Who know not, looking in her face, 
If shine or shadow be more sweet. 



A queen she treads the fragrant ground 

With burnished sandals, that awake 
Melodious discord all around. 

From heart-strings broken for her sake. 
Both queen and woman — O, the pain. 

At such expense her state to keep ! 
Better, she thinks, than sanguined plain 

Herself beneath the sod to sleep. 
184 



INDIAN SUMMER. 185 

Sadly she gazes on the death 

Of passing joy, joy passed away; 
Sees, where the future shadoweth 

The transient glory of today; 
And fain to shut the vision out 

She w^eaves a film of latent sighs, 
Drawing the gauzy veil about 

Her soft, warm cheek and hazel eyes. 



Now — all a queen 'tis hers to smile, 

And smiling, yet a kingdom sate ; 
Though silent in her breast the while 

Rise pale forebodings of her fate. 
Her gorgeous robes, made gayer still, 

She clasps with richly jewelled bands, 
And ruling with a royal will, 

Spreads fair her benedictive hands. 



Only a little day she sways — 

This tender, nut-brown Indian queen — - 
Mysterious comes, mysterious stays, 

Then leaves to gloom the fading scene. 



1 86 THE DEAREST DARLING. 

Yet holds she by the right divine 
And dares not lay her scepter down, 

Until her cup has spent its wine 

And heaven recalls her golden crown. 



THE DEAREST DARLING. 




HE dearest darling under sun 
Is this my singing heart would show; 
Earth surely holds no other one, 

In all her lovely garden-row 
Of precious babies born to praise. 
So perfect in so many ways. 



A little thing — the merest mite 

Of budding daintiness is she ; 
A fairy being that not quite 

Twelve moons have breathed on blessedly; 
A cooing dove, whose happy notes 
Would fill a hundred birdling throats. 



THE DEAREST DARLING. 187 

Were you to see her gleesome start, 
Springing to catch an offered joy — 

Or yet, the more than tender art 

With which she leans so trustful, coy, 

The least caress of love to meet — 

You could not help but call her sweet. 

So rarely sweet she seems to me, 
I marvel much if heaven can spare 

For long, such radiant purity; 
Or, missing, will recall it where 

Bright cherubs, full of gladness, wait 

The coming of their little mate. 

Still, if it rest with human care 

To keep her spirit in its frame. 
We'll safely guard our mortal share. 

Not letting heaven its treasure claim: 
For lost to us were life's best grace, 
If we should lose her sunny face. 

'Tis scarce an idle vagary 

To deem it lighted from above. 



i88 



THE DYING GIRL'S BEQUEST. 



Since Christ has said " their angels see 

Always my Father's face^^ of love; 
Since, too, an angel must have taught 
The smile, which she to earth has brought. 

O, that she still a child remain. 

Love's light o'erbrimming through her lips, 
Though woman's beauty she attain 

To lose it of the years' eclipse ; 
For heaven's delights are only free. 
To just such little ones as she ! 



THE DYING GIRL'S BEQUEST 




ARK ! sweet sister, I can hear 
In the distance voices calling — 



Sounds that meet my listening ear, 

Like soft rain-drops falling — 
Falling like the summer rain 
On a field of thirsty grain : 



THE DYING GIRL's BEQUEST. 1 89 

Voices straight from God, I'm sure, 

Angel harpists sent in kindness 
My worn spirit to allure 

From this filmy blindness — 
Blindness which mysteriously 
Hides thy beauty, sweet, from me. 

All the colors of the earth 

Now seem melting in the measure ; 

Now a bloom of heavenly birth 
Floods the air with treasure — 

Treasure that I long to clasp 

V/ith my thin hand's earnest grasp. 

But no longer with my hand 

May I gather scattered roses; 
In death's near and noiseless land 

Nerveless all reposes : 
Oh, I grieve for your dear sake, 
From the world these hands to take! 

Hands that learned of love and need 
And of deftness, arts of beauty, 



190 THE DYING GIRL's BEQUEST. 

AH the while their homely creed, 

Just to do their duty. 
Skilled at last to do and know, 
Must they from you idly go? 

But God orders all things well ; 

List ! the angel voices clearer — 
Was that, dear, a curtain fell ? 
Come, sweet, nearer, nearer. 
Hold them — something says to me : 
" Your hands are her legacy" 

Now, my sister, all is peace ; 

All is won for which I've striven; 
Love in trust has found release. 

Bliss to faith is given — 
Rapturous music fills the air. 
Crowned at length is work and prayer. 




SUNDOWN. 



I. 




HERE sky begins or sea-line ends 
In yon horizon's mysteries, 
No eye can mark, so softly blends 

The sea's and sky's infinities : 
The blue sea wears a crown of flame, 
The rosy clouds drink sapphire dew, 
Till, melted into each, no name 
Of human thought defines the hue. 

II. 

And thus the mortal life, meseems, 

At waning tide shall woven be 
With life immortal — earth's best dreams 

And heaven's blent in harmony; 
Till only infinite wisdom knows 

The word, beyond our speech's range, 
To paint the mystic light that throws 

Its veil of peace about the change. 
191 



LOVE'S SIGNET 



TO LEONARD. 



IVE years old is the beautiful fellow? 
Five years old did you say, next May, 
Yet, now, while the corn-field still is yellow, 
His birthday verse you would have today? 



Well — now or later, be even chances, 
If music I mate to a boy's fair grace. 

Whose hair just a frolic of sunshine dances 
Ring upon ring round a rosy face. 

Whose eye has sparkles of heaven within it, 
Blue as a sapphire, blue as the sea. 

Changing with sentiment every minute. 
Bonny and blithe as an eye can be. 

Save that I know he was born of woman, 
I could think that an angel came to earth, 
192 



THE SWEETENER. 1 93 

And cradled him soft in a bosom human, 
His eyes the chie to his cherub birth. 

Yet true, did an angel come, down-winging — 
Since Love is the angel truest, best — 

Come to the mother-breast softly singing, 
And folded his wings for a mortal rest. 

So here is the key to the starry splendor 
Of two blue eyes to the heavens leal — 

Over their nesting-place Love broods tender, 
And Love on the boy has set his seal. 



THE SWEETENER. 




PRING blossom, rose of June and Autumn 
cluster. 

Appeal alike to the glad eye of health. 
In whose spontaneous, overflowing luster. 
Is half the secret of the seasons' wealth. 



194 LOVE AND REST. 

The pallid cheek may warm to apple flushes, 
The fevered hand clasp fondly sweets of June, 

The languid palate leap to fruitage luscious. 
Yet weary of their day before the noon. 

'Tis laughing Health, with an unhindered fountain 
Of joy u|Dbubbling from her being's core. 

Whose lavish life embraces vale or mountain — 
Who drains delight at every opened door. 



LOVE AND REST. 
" Love is sweeter than rest." — Henry Timrod. 




EST will soon be granted, dear — - 
Think of all the bliss 
When you reach the brighter sjDhere, 

Lifted free of this ! 
Home, and rest, and palms, and peace, 

Verily, such gain 
O'er the losses of release 
Balances the pain ! " 



LOVE AND REST. 



195 



" Yea ; but human love to me 

Is so near divine, 
That my heart clings yearningly 

Even to life like mine. 
Love is sweeter far than rest — 

That alone I know — 
And the soul that loves me best 

Will not let me go." 



" Home, and rest, and heaven, dear, 

Love is in them all ! 
Tenderest love is given, dear, 

In the Saviour's call ; 
He would lift your face to his, 

Fold you to his breast, 
Teach you what a crowning 'tis 

When He offers rest ! " 



Rest is sweet — how well I know — 

Rest that follows care, 
When the tired sun droppeth low, 

And beside my chair 



196 LOVE AND REST. 



Listens one while I repeat, 
By her love caressed : 
" Ah, my, darling, love is sweet, 
Sweeter even than rest." 



" Yet, beloved, more than we 

Understand, he gives 
Unto him who trustfully 

In his promise lives ; 
Measure all the bliss we can — 

It must be believed — 
ISLever has the heart of man 

Perfect joy conceived ! " 



" True, ah, true, and well I mark 

All your words would teach ; 
And my soul beyond the dark 

Stretches forth to reach 
Faith yet fuller, more complete, 

While my lips attest 
It is love makes heaven sweet : 

Love is more than ?'est / " 



LOCO. 



TRANSCRIPT OF AN EXPERIENCE OF ... IN ARIZONA. 




AY, say not the red man of romance 
Is a creature of fancy, and fled 
Is all of the glory that crowned him — 
But say of his ho]3e : // is dead. 



It was down in the wilds of San Carlos, 
In the shade of an ended day, 

That I found, as often had happened, 
In my room an Indian lay. 

Vexed at the calm intrusion, 

Yu-ka-shee^ cried I, then ; 
And moved by a rash impatience, 

Yu-ka-shee — once again. 



^ Yu-ka-shce is a liberal Indian spelling for " get out.'' 

197 



198 LOCO. 

Slowly a tall form heightened, 

Drawing its length from the floor; 

And slowly a stalwart figure 

Passed passively through the door. 



The darkness covered his features, 
But through it a stifled sigh 

Quivered, in hushed deprecation, 
On a chieftain's lip to die. 

I followed out into the plaza. 

And there, with his shoulders bowed. 
His head on his hand, stood Loco, 

(Peerless among the proud) 

Thoughtful, subdued in the gloaming; 

His heart as his head low bent, 
Sighing, no doubt, in silence, 

Over a faith misspent. 

Humbly I asked for pardon; 
Royal, he smiled release 



LOCO. 



199 



Of penance ; and soon together 
We were smoking the pipe of peace. 



Now, after a twelve months' waning, 

This is the news I learn : 
"Loco is off on the war-path 

With sixty bucks," that burn 

For revenge on the pale-faced traitors ; 

Who led them from homes more fair, 
To the desolate reservation 

Of San Carlos — holding them there. 

(Holding the few that trusted 
V/hile many — Victorio's band — 

Chose rather the freedom of outlaws 
Than shelter on alien land.) 

Brave Loco believed in the Nan-tan"^ — 
(Who yet would their wrongs atone ; 

Who, out of their wintry troubles 
Would lift them into his sun) — 



The father at Washington. 



200 LOCO. 

Till, shamed in the trust, his spirit 
So gentle, so gracious, so strong, 

Now yields the lamb to the lion. 
To the war-whoop the evening song. 

Ah, who that has seen can wonder? 

These warriors forced to sue 
A power not always benignant. 

For each passport ! Say, could you ? 

And how are you more than Loco, 
Though lily-white to his red ? 

Powerful-limbed, handsome is Loco, 
With a courteous grace inbred ; 

And lovely is Loco's daughter ; 

And beautiful Loco's wife : 
I have seen them all, and I show you 

The trio true to life. 

And, too, a radiant baby, 

Upheld in the mother's, arms — 

Models for Bouguereau's canvas. 

With their dusk and brilliant charms. 



LOCO. 201 

Such as these, in tutelage painful 

Would you trammel, and tell them when 

And just how long they may wander 
At liberty from their pen ? 

For an hour, or a day, it may be — 

Only a furlough's space — 
And always with this condition. 

That overstay brings disgrace : 

The calaboose and hard labor — 
Well — the calaboose needs to be 

Kept in supply of sinew 
To serve at the Agency ! 

Yet why this profitless protest ? 

Where the fault is will follow the ban, 
White or red man in error; yet. Loco, 

Forsooth is a chivalrous man. 



Hark ! a later dispatch : " Killed is Loco." 

If fallen, an outlaw he fell ; 
And were he than all men more noble, 

The answer must be : It is well. 



TO A CRUSHED VIOLET. 



IMID violet, sadly shrinking 
From the help that I essay, 
Fain would I with freshest dew-drops, 
All your weariness allay — 
Yet I give you what I may. 



Must you always droop your eye-lids 
O'er the love-light treasured deep ? 

Nay — around you, spread your purple ; 
Do not such low vigil keep, 
Hiding eyes not made to weep. 



Yet your presence is so fragrant, 
Making all my world so sweet, 

I have not the heart to murmur 
That my glance you will not meet. 
Earnestly though I entreat. 



TO A CRUSHED VIOLET. 203 

Bending thus and shedding perfume 

Is so sad, there seems to be 
In your form but music's echo — 

Music from all gladness free : 

Pale, and in a minor key. 

Still, I wis, above your sadness 
Of a song to drown its moan — 

'Tis of tender love in waiting: 
Will not love, true love, atone 
For the lost joy you have known ? 

Yes, I think my love has saved you : 

Lifted, darling, is your head! 
Light from gracious depth is welling — 

Now, at last my hope is fed, 

Beauty unto life re-wed. 

Now — but no; I'll hold the measure, 
Lest to careless gaze I show 

All the story, quickened violet ! 
'Tis enough for me to know- 
Love's sweet secret, singing low. 



MIGNONETTE. 



= 



Y sweetheart to my heart I hold, 
Not only- for the sweetness 
Of inner life she doth unfold, 
But womanhood's completeness ! 
And I have plucked a charming flower, her name 
in sign to set — 
A rare-souled flower of dainty mold : 
Exquisite Mignonette. 



This fragrant bloom of garden birth 

Is modest, yet persuasive, 
Because the sweet it saps from earth 
By fullness is invasive. - 

'Tis truest measure of my love of all the flowers 
I've met : 
An herbe d'' amour — petite in girth, 
Delicious Mignonette ! 
204 



MIGNONETTE. 205 

Yet flowers no answering passion prove, 

Though sanguine-tipped in color; 
And in this one, I'm sure, my love 
Wakes envy's tint of dolor. 
Oh, well I know not any sign could aught of grsLC^ 
beget. 
So pure and peerless as my dove — 
My precious Mignonette ! 

But still my heart leaps up to say — 

For just the mere suggestion 
Which comes with a reseda-spray — 
That far beyond all question 
Of loveliness in other flowers — though rose or 
violet — 
To me, none other can betray 
The charm of Mignonette. 




THE FLUSHED FIRMAMENT 
1883-84. 



ROM eastern bound to west, from north to 
south, 

O'er torrid lands and seas of icy beds, 
O'er fruitful fields and deserts given to drouth, 
The sun unwonted crimson glory spreads. 

In cities where the sky, a narrow belt. 

Showed ruddy flame without the tender grace 

Of marginal tints, that in each other melt, 

The people cried, " 'Tis fire that we must face." 

But when they found the welkin broadly glows 
With blood-red hues long after set of sun — 

Saw that the dawn a roseate splendor shows 
Before her gold and silver threads are spun — 

Then said they, " What is this new thing we see — 
This change of order in the ordered ways 

206 



THE FLUSHED FIRMAMENT. 207 

Of morn and eve ? The end must surely be ! 
Such sign portends the earth's completed days." 

The wiser ones in answer to such fear : 

"'Tis cosmic dust." "No doubt, the comet's tail 

Has stirred commotion in the nebulous sphere." 
" Lo ! 'tis volcanic breath." But still they fail 

To solve assured, the problem of the day — 
Whether it bodes an elemental war. 

Or nature's thousand years of peaceful sway^ — 
Ah, not exhausted is God's repertoire 

Of miracles and marvels ! There is yet 
Untold divineness of the Holy One, 

To wake our worship and our pride to fret. 
Who say there is no new thing under sun. 

For if there be no new thing, still there is 
How much of old unconquered yet to learn ! 

Our boasted wisdom —what a failure 'tis. 

Which proves not whence the heavens so blush- 
ing burn ! 



GOLD WORSHIP 



A CHRONICLE OF REALMAH. 




HEN the old Earth, changing still, 
Was so young that yonder hill 
Which appears to us primeval. 
Was not thought of for upheaval 
By the force pervading all. 
Throve a now sub-aqueous city, which Abibah men 
did call. 



There they worshiped, even then 
With a worship that again 

And again has found renewal, 
Many gods, some kind, some cruel : — 
These strange gods of divers claims 
Won the service of the people who bowed down 
with divers aims. 

208 



GOLD WORSHIP. 209 

One there was among the Blest, 
So uplifted o'er the rest, 

That he suffered no beguilement 
To atone for sm's defilement. 
He so sacred was enshrined — 
On such heights — that but to name him, few were 
holily inclined. 

And so little wise were they, 
That the goddess holding sway 
Over love — Blastessa Koolie — 
With a power for blessing truly, 
Scarcely heard an Ave said : 
While unnumbered the devotions unto Koomrah- 
Kamah paid. 

Mammon was he, be it known ; 
The same god that many own 
Bowing unto him sincerely ; 
Thinking not they pay too dearly 
Trampling out diviner things. 
If a harvest they but gather of the substance that 
he brings. 



2IO GOLD WORSHIP. 

Naively, too, the legend tells 
That this " heaper up of shells" 
(Which is literal translation 
Of the god's name and vocation) 
Was of all besought the most 
By these pagans for the favors that they craved at 
any cost. 



Pagans ! Yes ; we've writ our rhyme 
Just because there seems to chime 
With such heathenish unreason, 
A like worship in this season — 
When, if truth it be we're told, 
Health and happiness and honor, all are sacri- 
ficed for gold! 



A NUPTIAL SONNET. 



EAR artist-friend, 'tis meet the rounded year, 
With fluctuant wealth of color, should bring 
all 

To grace your daughter's spousals ; meet ye call 
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter to appear, 
And circle as blithe maidens one so dear : — 

Fresh apple-bloom, whose sweets in showers fall; 

Pure, pink June roses, fragrant to enthrall ; 
October's flame ; and Winter's holly-cheer ! — 
True symbols they, while answering Love's behest, 

And yielding service to the bride so fair. 
Of what to the Creator's work — His best — 

He bade to perfect it : each season's care. 
That so the favored spirit, tended, blest, 

May lack no jewel in its crown to wear! 

Brooklyn, 



THE FOUNTAIN OF LOURDES 



N Charlemagne's beautiful Gaul, 
Where the mountains make love to the sea- 
Where they rise as the sentinel wall 

'Twixt Navarre and les If antes-Pyrenees — 
Lies a valley by green hills embraced : 

A valley whose peace is assured, 
So remote it is ; quiet, and graced 
By the picturesque village of Lourdes, 



Famed far is the village and near ; 

And pilgrims flock thither today, 
As erst they have done year on year, 

(For a score at least) faring that way 
To lay down some burden of ill 

That the body is heir to ; all cured. 
If the chronicle found there reveal 

Only truth of the fountain of Lourdes. 



THE FOUNTAIN OF LOURDES. 213 

The charm of the magical spot 

Grew out of a vision, it seems, 
That came to a child — Bernadotte : 

The Virgin appeared in his dreams — 
Yes, his dreams — and thereupon gushed, 

By the power pf her virtue adjured. 
The miracle-water that rushed 

For the balm of believers at Lourdes. 



This legend of France has sufficed 

Not a few of the faithful. Yet, lo ! 
The wiser — by vision of Christ 

In the likeness of babyhood — go 
To the fount whence true healing springs forth ; 

Love crowning the life thus ensured : 
Oh, the old Christmas-story is worth 

A thousand of legends of Lourdes/ 



Still, all the old stories are sweet, 
That teach us our evils to lave 

In mystical waters, that meet 

The need of the good which we crave. 



214 A TRUISM. 

But the one that is sweetest and best 
Is of Bethlehem : told, half obscured 

In the others ; ay, told with the rest 
In the tale of the fountain of Lourdes. 



A TRUISM 



OF DOUGLAS JERROLD. 



I. 




MAN is only as old as he feels." 
Truly, 'tis truth ! 



Whatever gray Time with his sickle steals, 

He cannot steal youth 
From one whose heart and whose hand obey 
The exultant strength of their primal day. 



GONE. 215 



II. 



" A man is only as old as he feels " — 

The fact remains — 
Yet let us suppose Time suddenly deals 

Rheumatic pains, 
That stiffen the limbs, rack heart and phiz 
Then, surely, a man feels old as he is. 



GONE 



ONE is the pride of her circle : 
So regal, so rare, so unique. 



Her fashion of form and of spirit, 
The like we need none of us seek ! 

Yet all is not gone with her beauty 
Not vanished is all with her grace, 

The faith which she cherished still liveth, 
To brighten her sorrowful place. 



2l6 GONE. 

The love she reflected yet shineth, 

To gladden our shadowy ways, 
Though dashed is the beautiful crystal 

That gathered and scattered the rays. 
O, clear was the crystal and polished, 

And clearly the love-light passed through 
The Light that forever is shining, 

The darkness of night to subdue. 



The dew of the morning, translucent, 

Was scarce more transparent than she, 
Who freely gave others the water 

Of life that to her was so free : 
She held it in cup of the lily ; 

She held it in cup of the rose ; 
And gave without stint to the thirsting, 

Like any sweet blossom that grows ; 



Like any fair blossom that lifteth 
Its chalice for human delight; 

And poureth, for comfort, its fragrance 
Far into the dusk of the night ; 



GONE. 217 

Like any fair blossom that praiseth 

The Maker in glory of bloom ; 
And praiseth him still in the attar 

That cannot be buried in gloom. 

Yet, gone is the pride of her circle : — 

A woman whose spirit was rife 
As a bird's, with the rhythm of singing ; 

Gone, gone is a charm from the life 
Of all who have known her and loved her ; 

Yes, gone is her beauty and grace, 
But her pure faith, so child-like, abideth, 

To brighten her sorrowful place. 

Philadelphia. 



[The wife of General C , U. S. A., was a woman of 

rare beauty of person, of remarkable simplicity of faith and 
character, and withal a charming improvisatrice.] 



THE WISDOM OF SORROW. 



I. 




HEN love's presence was the guerdon 
Sure to crown the day-task done ; 
When the air grew soft and sweet 
Quickened by love's coming feet ; 
When but tenderest hint of sorrow 
Lay in doubting if tomorrow 
Jealous, might hold back love's hand, 
Then I did not understand 
How could fall a hopeless burden 
On the breast of any one, 
Underneath God's sun. 



II. 

Once I taught heroic lesson 

(Ah, so little teachers know) 
Unto them, with brooding air, 
Who seemed yielding to despair; 
218 



THE WISDOM OF SORROW. 219 

And 1 chided them for sadness 
That o'erlooked life's dower of gladness; 
But I did not understand 
How the loosing of a hand, 
Like the unstrung note we press on, 

Out of which rude discords grow, 

May turn joy to woe. 



III. 



Now, I feel pain's presence keenly, 
(Teacher taught at last to know) 
Since no more my ear may greet 
The rhythm of two coming feet; 
Since no more the night advances 
Luminous with looked-for glances; 
Since I may not clasp love's hand, 
Now, indeed, I understand 
How one may not meet serenely, 

Common things which lack the glow 
Rounded hopes bestow. 



220 THE P^ROZEN CREW. 

IV. 

Now, I kneel in deep contrition 
Low, before the weeping host 
Of earth's mourners who make moan 
Begging grace in minor tone 
For a sympathy withliolden ! 
— Still afloat in ether golden, 
Joy beside us hand in hand. 
How should we yet understand 
Sorrow of late recognition, 

Only learned at bitter cost 
Of heart-treasure lost? 



THE FROZEN CREW. 




EAR by the light-house, whose lamp is lit 
By a brand from the sun which is firing it, 



Doubling the gleams from the west that quiver, 
A crystal ship lies out on the river. 



THE FROZEN CREW. 22 1 

Frost-woven sheets to the wind are furled ; 
Frost-bound the streamer on topmast curled; 

Reef-band and mainsail are frozen stark — 
A shimmering specter, the glassy bark ! 

Crisp cordage of ice was spun last night 

By the breath of the storm in its mystic might ; 

Chill was the touch that chilled the men, 
Who strove to lower the sails again ; 

But it conquered them all in its silver snare, 
And fashioned a shroud for the bravest there ! 

Only a day, from the harbor-bar 

Had the canvas filled for its port afar; 

Only a day, or breezes brave 

Had challenged the bark to clear the wave ; 

Only a day of quickened life, 

As the air with pulses of health was rife, 

Had this ship with its store of golden corn 
Over the gladdened sea been borne ; 



222 THE FROZEN CREW. 

When feathery flakes began to fall, 

And the king of the storm outspake, to call 

To his aid the help of wind and sleet — 
Furies that came on hurrying feet, 

And blinded the men, and clouded the air 
With a wonder that ever is wondrous fair: 

A spell that a siren might weave in hate 
To lure her victim to helpless fate; 

Yet never so mockingly cruel as when 
One, the most fearless among the men, 

Sprang to the top with heart to dare, 

And was frozen stiff to the cross-tree there ! 

Long the battle with wind and hail; 
One by one the stout hearts fail ; 

One by one they are frost-numbed all — 
The gallant crew in their icy thrall! 

Breaks the morning in smiles once more ; 
Turned is the weird ship back to shore ; 



THE FROZEN CREW. 223 

Slowly it ploughs the sea-slush through — 
The ghostly ship with its silent crew — 

Till out from the light-house succor comes, 
And the men are borne to sorrowing homes: — 

Some to yield to an endless night, 
Blind to the blessing of cheerful light ; 

Some to suffer a torturing pain. 

As the sealed life-current is loosed again, 

Or, to cry, in the fever of struggling breath. 
To the man aloft who is dumb with Death — 

While the mute ship lies a spectral sight. 
Clad in its vestments of shining white, 

Unwarmed by the flames from the west which dip 
To kindle the hold of the crystal ship, 

And halo the head of the sleeping man 
Who froze at his post when the storm began. 



TOMORROW 



OMORROW— a beautiful day 



I Is waiting for you and for me ; 
Bluest skies of ethereal ray 

Are impatient the shadows to flee. 
Why care if the landscape be sullen and gray ? 
Tomorrow will chase all the cloud-racks away. 

Tomorrow, you say may be dull 

With the leaden-hued face of today. 
There's a morrow whose measure is full 
Of joy never spilled by delay ! 
If today born of yesterday baffle our will, 
Tomorrow, tomorrow is radiant still. 

Tomorrow is mantled in white, 

As pure as the soft falling snow 
That rounds into waves of delight 
To cover earth's pitiful woe. 
The gale may be sighing, the frost-king astray, 
Tomorrow will sparkle in crystalline spray. 

224 



TOMORROW. 225 

Tomorrow with roses is crowned, 

A tender eyed sylph o' the May, 

Fhnging garlands of blossoms around 

In a child-like, improvident way. 

Today may be barren, a chill in the air ; 

Tomorrow, sweet spring-life will bud everywhere. 

Tomorrow, the birds without fear 

Flitting back to the woodlands again, 
Will sing for the summer that's here, 
A full-throated, ravishing strain. 
The world now so silent of bird or of bee, 
Tomorrow shall echo with ' refluent glee. 

Tomorrow the babe of the field 

From its silk-curtained cradle shall rise ; 
And spurning the harvest-queen's shield, 
Fill the air with a golden surprise. 
The seed may be brown in the cell of today 
Yet vestured tomorrow in royal array. 

Tomorrow is regal for all, 

With a scepter of love in her hand : 



226 CICADA-SONG. 

The weary but wait for her call 
To rest in the full fruited land. 
O'er the span of today we may tearfully grope, 
But the arch of tomorrow is glowing with hope. 

Yes, tomorrow, a beautiful day, 

Is waiting for you and for me — 
Impatient our grief to allay, 

Our sorrow-weighed pinions to free. 
Why reck we the burden that presses today ? 
Tomorrow, tomorrow will lift it away. 



CICADA-SONG. 




EEMETH the chorus that greets the ear 
A dirge for the dying hours, 



That wake no more for the passing year, 
Spring's voices of birds and flowers ? 

Or, is it a psalm of love upborne 
From this grateful earth of ours ? 



CICADA-SONG. 227 

Unfold us the burden of your song, 

Grasshoppers, chirping so 
Tender and sweet the whole day long ! 

Is it of joy or woe 
The music that breathes from each blade of grass 

In undertone deep and low ? 

Vainly I list for a jarring tone, 

All is so blest to me — 
From the cricket that answers beneath the stone 

The brown toad hid in the tree, 
To the tiniest insect of them all 

That helps with the harmony. 

Never a pause in the serenade! 

Like the glory of ripened corn 
It filleth the air through the sun and shade ; 

While from dusk till the peep of morn 
Is a rhythmical pulse in the dreamful night 

That of satisfied life seems born. 

As the balm of the hay-field about us floats. 
So, melody crowneth the haze 



228 OCTOBER. 

Of the yellow ether with choral notes 
Through these tuneful autumn days. 

Speak! sphinx of the hearth-stone, cricket, dear 
Is the song of sorrow or praise ? 

Of this I am sure, that you bring to me 
Thoughts, the sweetest of any I know; 

Of this I am sure, that you sing to me 
In tones that are tenderly low. 

Of things the dearest that life has brought. 
And dearest that hopes bestow. 



OCTOBER. 




HAT joy is this which thrills us 
With unspeakable delight ? 



What benison which fills us 
To forgetfulness of pain .? 
What stimulus is nerving us to battle tor the 
right, 



OCTOBER. 229 

As when in hopeful spring-time we tracked its 

beacon light ? 
Whence do our wasted energies a new-born force 

attain ? 
October, stepping cheerily through woodland, field 

and fen, 
Is ruling with a royal right the willing world 

again ! 



What though November's sleeping breath 

May stir the quick'ning gale — 
What though a whisp'ring North wind saith, 
" Your streams I will enchain " — 

Wliat though some far-off tufts of snow may chill- 
ing life exhale — 

While warmth of living color with radiance fills 
the vale, 

We dare not by prophetic woe our heritage pro- 
fane ; 

But yield to glad October who smiles from hill 
and glen, 

Crowned with a gay Bacchante's crown, and 
throned for us again ! 



230 OCTOBER. 

Why call these " melancholy days, 

The saddest of the year ? " 
Why sing in minor tones of praise 

For autmxm a refrain? 
Who, disenthralled from summer, with wan face 

loitering near, 
But triumphs in his blest release, his joyance all 

sincere ; 
And springs with breast unburdened on the richly 

loaded wain 
Of her who wields the golden-rod and sways the 

hearts of men, 
Wreathed in iridian splendor — magnificent again? 

Her gracious hand extended. 

She bids us cease from care. 
And feast, love's labor ended, 

On golden-dropping grain. 
Our souls have but to open wide to charms so 

debonair, 
And drink the ruddy wine of life from lips 'Ms 

ours to share ; 
Ay, revel in the joyousness of glowing mount and 

plain 



NATURES NUN. 23 1 

Aflame with bright October's smile — brighter and 

dearer when, 
Turning her crimson cheek to go, the pale months 

come again. 



NATURE'S NUN 



HE priestly trees with crowns all bare, 
I Attend the pale year's vows, 
And sternly stand while deep in prayer 
The maiden humbly bows. 

Her fadeless charm is hjd within 

A garb of common gray : 
Each glowing color, like a sin, 

Laid ruthlessly away. 

Oh, strange the power that blights the sun 

Soft resting in her hair — 
That clips the tresses one by one. 

And buries aught so fair ! 



232 NATURE S NUN. 

Meek, shorn and quiet is she now, 
Who erst, by song and smile 

And glory of a sunny brow, 
Could all the world beguile. 

Yet rues she not her vanished sway 
O'er pleasure born to die. 

Who finds at last an open way 
To treasure of the sky. 

The leafy shade of June's delight 
No longer looms to screen 

November's broad expanse of night 
Where unmasked stars are seen. 

Slight, interlacing threads of brown, 
Alone are waving set _ 

Athwart the love-light streaming down 
A scarcely hindering net — 

Between whose wind-blown traceries 
Her vision searches space ; 

And wins for missing images 
A far diviner grace. 



LOVE S UNIVERSALITY. 233 

Her ashen gown that bleak winds stir, 

Her closely fastened cross, 
With their pure promise seem to her 

More rich than richest loss. 

Hence unto infinite hope upsprings 

Her freed soul wise and calm, 
From earth-born trammels, while she sings 

A new thanksgiving psalm. 



LOVE'S UNIVERSALITY 




ITH statelier splendor than a monarch shows 
Who spreads his purple of magnificence 
To awe the city into reverence, 
The setting sun on this lone desert throws 
A flood of light, in mingled gold and rose, 
As lavish as if here from crowds immense 
Should rise acclaiming voice of frankincense 
Stirred by the grandeur that such grace bestows. 



234 SNOW-CLAD. 

Yet richer blessings with as generous hand, 

Impartial, from God's hand are borne adown — 

Borne far to meet the loneliest in the land : 
Look but beneath the cruel-seeming frown, 

And see how love-light glistens in the sand. 
Where ravening seas had threatened all to 
drown ! 



SNOW-CLAD. 

(grace church, BROOKLYN.) 



ON templed pile in calm repose 
Is robed as though for endless rest 



As though a saint at vesper's close 
Should fold his hands divinely blest; 

Or, fain to serve his master yet, 

Should silent paint a pictured prayer 

Of ivied stone in frost-work set, 
Illumined by minutest care. 



SNOW-CLAD. 235 

More fair in that each broidering tree, 
O'erburdened like a tear-filled eye, 

Is mantled with the mystery 

Of fallen stars that in them lie. 

Swift, flake on flake, new load is laid 
Of crowning pressure on the stems ; 

And still the woven film is made 
To hold anew increasing gems. 

The whole gray world whose differing grays 
Shade tenderly from brown to white. 

Transfigured is within the maze 
Of snows that yield supernal light. 

Still, nothing seems so clothed with grace 

So holy in its hoary screen. 
As yonder quiet, spire-topped place, 

Fresh yesterday with living green ; 

And vocal with the twitterings 

Or myriad sparrows — songs or sighs 

Responsive to impatient wings — 
All mute today in hushed surprise. 



236 SNOW-CLAD. 

The pictured windows, too, that then 
In color chanted to the sun, 

Are neutral tinted now, as when 

The twilight melts their hues in one. 

Such breathless, hallowed ministry 
Attends the tranquil, wintry hour, 

It scarce were marvelous to see 
The pile upborne by mystic power; 

Or angels hear — like those we meet, 

Who closely drift to heaven's shore - 
Saying in accents low and sweet, 
"Behold the pure who rest or soar!" 




THE CUP OF WATER. 

"And they filled a sponge with vinegar, and put it upon 
hyssop, and put it to his mouth." — John xix : 2g. . 




ATER ! " Yes, give me of water, fresh water 

to drink ; 

For I am athirst and aweaiy, ah! wearily dying; 
• And here on this bed of discomfort where long 

I've been lying, 
So famished and parched and imrestful, I cannot 

but think : 
Oh! had they but given the Saviour fresh water 
to drink, 
When he in his agony, too, was aweary and 
dying ! 



One day in far Sychar, he sat on the curb of a 
well, 
And of a Samarian woman asked simply the 
favor. 

237 



238 THE CUP OF WATER. 

She parleyed; while more than she knew, was 
the draught that he gave her, 
Of wisdom — his knowledge her wonder did surely 

compel — 
Whoever, spake he, will drink of the water of my 
living well 
Shall nevermore thirst ! Why showered he so 
lavish his favor? 

To him she gave nothing. 'Twas Christ who gave 
freely to her. 
(Oh, had one but given him water to help his 

last anguish ! 
How could they have seen him, the helper of 
others, so languish, 
And to give him a cup of cool water one moment 

demur ?) 
Did he ask me 'I And did I, too, parley on level 
with her, 
Not giving him comfort 1 Ah, me ! then deserve 
I this anguish ! 

" Be peaceful, my child, let not questions disturb 
thee in vain ; " — 



IN GETHSEMANE. • 239 

It seemed that the voice which we heard was 

the voice of the Saviour — 
" Thou need'st not to doubt so, poor suff'rer, 
thy Christian behavior, 
Whose hand has been always alert for the healing 

of pain ; 
Not one of thy ministries ever was offered in 
vain — 
' Inasmuch as thou gav'st to the least, gav'st 
thou to the Saviour ! ' " 



IN GETHSEMANE. 
" Sleep now, and take your rest." — Mark xiv : 41 



'RAW close, sweet shadows, fold us from the 
light; 

We're weary, very weary, let us sleep — 
Weary of trying watch and ward to keep — 
Weary of day and glad that it is night: 



240 THE NEW BIRTH. 

So glad the conflict between wrong and right 
Has respite, and forgetful we may reap 
The calm of soothing slumber, dreamful, deep — 

Draw close, sweet shadows, fold us from the light. 

Sleep now, if sleep you must, and take your rest; 

The sun will hold his orbit still the same, 
And, pressing through night's curtains that protest. 

Will startle your slow eyelids with his flame, 
Till you shall wake to know the Day is best : 

Its joy your portion through My finished shame. 



TH E N EW BI RTH. 




OMPLETE in Christ" — and can it be, 
That quite apart from human worth, 



Simply by coming, Lord, to thee. 

We know the bliss of heavenly birth .'' 



THE NEW BIRTH. 241 

" Complete in Christ " — the words ring out 
With strange, sweet music, when we see 

They mean Christ's beauty wrapped about 
The erring soul mysteriously; 

That His warm, penetrating smile 
Melts, all unseen, the rime of sin : 

The sunshine only screened awhile 
Of love-transmuted life within — 

Now pure in perfectness ; as though 
No mark were there of any blight — 

Not one stained memory left to show 
Its shadow in the primal light. 

" Complete in Christ " — the words have grown 
To untold cadence when we dare 

To claim Christ's merit as our own : 

Our own through child-like faith and prayer. 




A TRUE LIFE 



ROCK of softened beauty stands serenely 
Among the hills' that rise above the shore 
And upward lifts luxuriant foliage greenly, 

Of nature's fadeless store ; 
Turning no pallor to the threatening blast, 
Nor blooming richer that the storm is past ; 

But brave alike beneath the sunny sparkles 
Of smiling day that tips with gold each crest, 

Or, when a cold, gray cloud of winter darkles 
Its outlook to the west ; 

Ever, spice-laden, planted firm and still. 

Unmoved to break with the Eternal Will. 

So, even as m this laurelled rock, whose glory 
It is to look aloft with steadfast brow, 

I read, strong soul, within thy life the story 
Of faith no storm can bow ; 

Nor soft and liquid wooings turn aside 

From truth, on which thy patient feet abide. 



FILMS. 



243 



iVnd if the stone beneath the verdure seemeth 
To fret the wave, which cannot but caress — 

The wave which fonder growing, idly dreameth 
The rock may some day bless, 

By bending low a kingly crown to heed 

The homage v*hich is but its royal meed — 

Be sure, brave heart, a blessedness unfaihng, 
The sea knows in the rock's resisting grace, 

Diviner far than if her song availing 
'Twere lured from its high place, 

To lose in mists below a heavenward view, 

Nor longer stand, as thou, divinely true. 



FILMS 




OFT is the film between the vale and hill. 
Shrouding the winter's frost from summer's 
glow — 
The subtile mist that golden days distil 

When summer's footstep lingers loath to go : 



244 A SONNET. 

Yes, soft and tender is the purple haze 

That veils the mountain from the valley's gaze. 

And tender is the film that holds the view 
Of coming fortune from the fearless eye, 

Else would the distant upland's checkered hue 
Bring disenchantment to the lowlands nigh : 

Yes, very tender is the mystic line 

That hides tomorrow in a fold divine. 



A SONNET 

TO THE SONNET MAKER. 



O couch of roses (yielding sweets exprest 
Of endless summer), with blue canopy 
Wrought of the whole wide heaven's immensity, 
And starred with stars from boundless east to west, 
Is that on which the sonneteer may rest ! 
If cradled so, with fancy's pinions free 
To breathe unstrained the breath of poesie, 
Soft were his stages to life's laurelled crest. 



VASA MARCH. 245 

Mark, now, what liberty doth him await, 

In whom the sonnet's rule has preference bred 
To find repose in so constrained estate : 



Parnassian meads his muse's feet may tread, 
And he be borne by them to beauty's gate — 
. But, bound a prisoner on Procrustean ' bed ! 



VASA MARCH 



FROiM THE SWEDISH OF Z. TOPELIUS. 



I. 




N northern frost our cradle stood. 
By frothing stream and shuddering flood ; 



Yet grew we there 'mid ice and storm. 



246 VASA MARCH. 

As Sturdy pines that snow-drifts warm- 

The pines that grow 

Beneath the snow, 

And crowned with green 

Stand up serene, 
To smile above the wintry scene ; 

And crowned with green 

Stand up serene, 
To smile above the wintry scene. 



II. 



A thousand waves together meet, 
Where Finnish homes their coming greet; 
And Finland's sons like waves embrace, 
O, parent-land, within thy grace. 

With joy they bear 

Thy crest in air ; 

Full blest to be 

A help to thee, 
W^hom A'asa served as none but he : 

Full blest to be 

A help to thee, 
Whom Vasa served as none but he. 



THE ARMY OF SPRING. 247 



III. 



Our brave North-land ! Our Fatherland ! 
On rock-bound shores thy children stand ; 
Oh ! teach us so thy strength to be, 
As thou art strong to break the sea ! 

Made steadfast thus, 

Grow, thou, in us ; 

While we with hand 

And heart withstand 
All foes of our dear Finnish land ! 

While we with hand 

And heart withstand 
All foes of our dear Finnish land ! 



THE ARMY OF SPRING 



ENS of thousands and ten times ten. 



^»^1 Clad in yellow and purple and pink 



Little folks marching like stalwart men 
Up from the dark to the summer's brink ! 



248 THE ARMY OF SPRING. 

Yet can it be dark where such robes are made • 
Surely the looms in the light must be 

That colored these uniforms shade by shade, 
And fashioned the rare embroidery ! 

Wherefore the rising — can any one say — 
Of hosts that rush from the realm of night, 

Letting no hindrances bar the way, 
Bursting upon us with joy bedight ? 

Tens of thousands and ten times ten. 
Vested in violet, blue and gold — 

Little folks marching like stalwart men 
Up through the winter's rime and mold. 

Come they to tell us that down below. 
There" where the baby lies hid in flowers, 

Down in the hollow, under the snow, 

Is a brio^hter world than this world of ours ? 



Tens of thousands and ten times ten. 
Gay in scarlet and green and white — 

Little folks marching like stalwart men, 
Muster before us a princely sight : 



CHILD LIFE. 249 

Gonfalons floating and flags out-spreaa, 
Lily bells ringing and censers swung, 

Bonneted, plumed, and with slippered tread. 
The sweetest cavalcade ever sung ! 

What is their mission ? Which of us knows, 
Save that they bless us and pass away, 

Destined to scatter the seed that grows 
And blooms in battalions here today? 



CHILD LIFE 



TO M. B. O. 




Y precious, sweet darling, with wonder-wide 

eyes, 



Has stept from the room for a minute ; 
Yet still all around me unconsciously lies 
The print of her presence within it. 



250 CHILD LIFE. 

Soft pillowed to rest near a lesson's loose page, 

And folded the bed-linen under, 
Is Dolly, her darling ! At what given age 

Do girls outgrow DoU-dom, I wonder? 

Or women, I might say, since fondly I gaze 

In a mood that is almost maternal 
On the patient-faced manikin, thinking of days 

Like my daughter's, delightsomely vernal ; 

When a doll of my own had a sweet human way, 

A sort of expression that blesses ; 
When I cared for her comfort by night and by day, 

And fancied she answered caresses. 

It is sympathy speaks for my twelve summer's old 

Little girl, in her loyal affection, 
Which she holds half in secret ; half fears to unfold. 

Lest a smile might ensue on detection. 

But wherefore a smile, if her school-hours between 
She but changes one joy for another; 

And back into Elf-land again is a queen 
Of the realm — and a right royal mother? 



CHILD LIFE. 251 

Too soon will the fancies of fairy-land fade ; 

Too soon it is robbed of its splendor; 
Too soon, I am sure, are the little ones made 

Their kingdom of youth to surrender. 

Too soon is dear Santa Claus put to jthe blush, 
And his agents reduced to confusion, 

By the lore of the wise-acres whispering, " Hush ! 
You know it is all a delusion." 

Too soon do the snow-flakes seem nothing but 
snow ; 

But, ah ! we are glad to remember, 
That once they were messengers sent here to show 

A near twenty-fifth of December. 

Then, darling, my darling with wonder-wide eyes, 
From which the sweet mists are not shaken. 

We will pray that together we ever grow wise, 
Yet never from dreamland awaken. 

That even though three-score-and-ten be our years, 
We may sail, without fear of demerit, 

Into havens of fancy, uplifted from tears, 
Which children divinely inherit. 



BRET. 

A Spanish truffle-dog, whose amateur-performances, in tlie 
Kaatskills, contributed over one hundred dollars to the 
Tribune "Fresh Air Fund." 



WO brownest of eyes, soft peering 
Through a shock of shaggy hair; 



Two brownest of ears, down drooping; 

And a tail (whisked everywhere) 
Brown, Hke his curly jacket, 

At the tip a white plume set, 
And the softest of snowy bosoms, 

Has our frolicsome, kindly Bret. 

But not for his brave appearance, 

Though that is unique indeed, 
Do we value our foreign poodle 

Of notable Spanish breed; 
'Tis more for his comprehension. 

And his willing way and quick, 
To learn and to do at bidding 

The oldest and newest trick. 
252 



BRET. 253 

" Speak ? " Yes, he speaks at asking, 

In loud or in lower key; 
Walks, on his hind feet jumping. 

As cunningly as can be ; 
Plays dead, while nothing will rouse him, 

Though you shake him and tease and coax, 
Till one shouts "The police are coming!" 

When he's up, and enjoys the hoax. 



He begs, and he catches biscuit 

On the bridge of his nostrils laid ; 
Sits, pipe in mouth, with a cap on, 

Like an old judge grave and staid ; 
Finds, with the truest instinct. 

What is hidden in " hide and seek ; " 
Steals handkerchiefs "for a living" 

From pockets whereout they peek. 



Charles Reade named a dog once Tonic — 
A compound of steal, bark, whine ; 

But Bret, you see, is an actor, 
And judged on a higher line. 



254 THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 

Besides, he's more than a tonic, 
In the sense of the novehst's wit: 

He's a genuine, jolly companion, 
Full of gayety, "go," and grit. 

But rhyme is slow in rehearsal 

Of the varied things he will do : 
He bounds through a hoop, he dances. 

He carries and fetches too ; 
In short, he's a wonderful creature — 

A lion-like, playful pet; 
Only a dog, yet splendid 

In his dogship is our Bret. 



THE LANGUAGEOF BIRDS. 



THOUSAND and twenty singing birds 
Are chanting a matin song 
To my list'ning heart, in the unknown words 
That to Switzerland's birds belong. 



THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 255 

Yet, shutting my eyes, I never would know 

If the woods of this old-world land 
Were other than ours, while musical so 

With a rapturous singing band. 

One couldn't imagine a foreign tongue 
Is sounding such clear, sweet notes ; 

But rather be sure that the strains are sung 
By our own little songsters' throats. 

We'd never surmise that the meadow-lark 
With his wings to the green fields set, 

Would only give heed to our voice and hark, 
If we called him_ an alouette ! 

That the rossignoVs song in the Switzer's vale, 

With its melody pure and free, 
W^ould faint in the speech of our nightingale ; 

We wouldn't believe it could be ! 

Nor would it, my dear. We are right — we're right! 

One language the birds have — one ; 
They use it by day and they use it by night, 

They use it in shadow and sun : 



256 REMEMBER. 

'Tis the language of lovers — the same, the same 

Wherever its harmony grows; 
The language of music that hasn't a name 

Save that which the whole world knows. 

So we'll listen, we two, with accustomed ear, 

To the spring that is fully awake ; 
And know we're together — one there, one here: 

At home and on Leman's Lake. 

Gerteva, April 26, iSyS, 



REMEMBER 




F within your crystal soul a question 
Of the color of my passion vexes, 
If its lavish incense thrown around you 

By excess perplexes ; 
Know no aureoled saint I hold above you 
Remember that I love you. 



REMEMBER. 257 

If love's perfumed air expands in blessing, 
Only when its open sweets surround you ; 

If from its pervading presence parted, 
Doubtings may confound you; 

Know that never doubts of mine disprove you — 

Remember that I love you. 

If your features warmed by my caressing 

Glow with a divine illumination 
But to cool and fade in distance lonely, 

Stirred by no pulsation ; 
Know my soul refuses to reprove you — 
Remember that I love you. 

If you cannot answer all the fullness 
Of the measure of my heart's devotion. 

If your leaning toward me signals merely 
A reflected motion; 

Know that even so 'tis joy to move you — 

Remember that I love you. 

For, in this " I love you " is a meaning 
Far beyond the ken of simple fancy: 



258 THE LAUREATE SINGER. 

Measureless in love's enlightened language 

Love's significancy ! 
Know, of worth attested, I approve you — ■ 
Believe me that I love you. 



THE LAUREATE SINGER. 



ROWNED is the sea supreme among the 

poets — 
Voicing unmeasured thought: 
If to it turn the soul grief-burdened, lo! its 

Waves, with sadness fraught, 
Will sing with sobbing, sympathetic moan, 
A murmuring song in sorrow's monotone, 
Attuned to grief alone. 



THE LAUREATE SINGER. 259 

If bright the hour, the soul with rapture thrilling 

Oblivious to all ill, 
The self-same ocean moves in glad fulfilling 

Of some mysterious will, 
That bids the tenderest notes to tremble there 
Beneath a crimpled veil — so happy, fair 

The smile the waters wear! 



Yet if the soul be chafed, its joy forsakhig 

In pulses fierce and strong; 
The hurrying billows emulant, seem waking 

Grave echoes, which belong 
To storms, that fret and foam in latent wrath, 
And mutter low upon their surly path, 

The voice that anger hath. 

This singer never falters in expression 

Of singer's subtlest art; 
But holds a master-key by pre-possession 

To fit each throbbing heart-— 
Whose ban the lashings of the deep repeat; 
Whose praise the swelling tide so wondrous sweet, 

Resounds with praise complete. 



26o ~ IN sarony's studio. 

Man's mood may scale the gamut, grave or 
tender — 

It matters not — the sea 
Responsive utterance will freely render 

From its immensity : 
Its soundless depth no fetters know to thrall 
The motions, rhythmic and reciprocal, 

That, infinite, answer all. 



IN SARONY'S STUDIO. 




OUR happiest expression, if you please, 
I'll do the rest — arrange these folds for 



you. 
Your eye-lids you may wink — just so — with ease. 

Now glance here : that will do. 
Once 7nore., 

Don't move ! The posture is all grace ; 
That head-turn is a very sweet surprise; 
Yes, quite perfection is that fall of lace. 
There — lift, a thought, your eyes ! " 



IN sarony's studio. 261 

('Tis done.) "All right! — a vignette now, my 
boy" — 

In cheery tones rings out upon the air 
Like to a boatswain calling " Ship, ahoy ! " — 

Presto ! — the vignette's there. 

Hark ! waves of rippling laughter from the screen — 
" Nay, sirens, I can manage only one ; 

Soon on the card I'll paint your fairy queen ; 
But leave us, pray, alone ! " 

" The negative ? ah, that I never show. 

Except in cases quite exceptional. 
/ must ? Then, from a brood of birdlets, know 

I honor '^ must ' and ' shall.' 

" Aha ! my little fellow, are you here, 

To make your pretty face a picture gay.f* 

Well, stand upon this rock, my little dear; 
Fold arms — and look this way." 

"All right!" 

" Yes, madam, yes, it is all right ; 
On Monday you can come the proof to see." 

" And you, sir ? 



262 IN sarony's studio. 

— What ! you think that proof 
a fright ! 
Nay, nay, it must not be : 

We'll try again But not today, sir, no, 

I'm mad, quite mad with all I have to do ; 
Morning and noon till night, I'm thronged just so ; 
On Wednesday come, at two." 

" Oh, for blest rainy days ! Not dew to flower 
Is sweeter than the cloud to his parched brain. 

Who weds the sun and soulless crowds each hour 
In triturating pain. 

"In some bright moments I am bade rejoice, 

When sympathetic souls have faith in me, 

As when fair Kellogg, with her silvery voice 

Of rarest minstrelsy. 
Accepts my pose." 

"I cry, divine! divine! 

But there are some their will 'gainst mine array, 

And mimicking fixed stars, deign but to shine 

One resolute, fixed way." 

" Such make the artist in me cry with pain 
Over the wearisome and futile hour, 



THE FOOLISH NUNS. 263 

So wrought to passion are the nerves which strain 
To lift to light each flower." 

"Yet still I triumph. As when at command 

Of Art, Ristori felt the fire in me, 
And gave me Marie Antoinette, as grand 

As if a human sea 
Of earnest hearts were pulsing to her spell ! 

Such moments are restoratives of ease — 
But, pardon ! 

You will come tomorrow ? Well, 

At ten, then, if you please." 



THE FOOLISH NUNS. 



OT heard of " the boy and wolf ? " Nor the 
girl, 



Who cried " Fire ! " to her final woe ? 
Then possibly not of the nuns' mad plot 
At Capo San Martino? 



264 THE FOOLISH NUNS. 

This Southern headland of ancient Gaul 

Stands out in bluest of seas, 
And its breezes blow with the sweets that flow 

From tropical-fruited trees. 

'Twas ages back (in a misty year), 

Some centuries — may be ten — 
That the convent here nursed a brooding fear 

Of the capturing Saracen. 

So timid the nuns at the Cape became, 
They planned with their neighbors brave. 

If the bells should ring with a quickened swing, 
To fly to the fold and save. 

One night in the winter's coldest air. 

These Narbonensians heard 
The bells ring out, and with song and shout, 

They were true to their given word. 

They came from the hill, from the plain they 
came. 

To Capo San Martino ; 

They breasted the blast from a sea-storm cast — 

They rivaled the wind — when, lo! 



THE FOOLISH NUNS. 265 

In the gateway only the nuns are found 

Kneeling, as each one tells 
How they thought to test, of their friends the 
best, 

By ringing the convent bells. 

Alas ! alas ! for the foolish nuns — • 

Not long was it ere the foe 
Made the 'lartim ring, yet no answer bring 

To Capo San Martino. 

The men of the Narbonensis heard. 

But they laughed, " It is only jest ; 
We will brave no more either sea or shore. 

Where the convent lies at rest." 

So the nuns were stolen, the convent sacked, 

And now but its ruins glow 
In the setting sun, when the day is done. 

At Capo San Martino. 



THE BEGGARS' FORTUNE. 




OME good or ill — sad fate or fair, 
To chill or kiss us on our way — 
We have the sun, the sky, the air, 
To cheer our effort day on day: 
We have these royal blessings free 
Despite untoward destiny. 

When good and ill the balance try, 

We need but smile and watch the scale, 

Sure that the sun and air and sky 
To favoring turn it will not fail — 

That nature's ever generous boon 

Will overweigh a leaden noon. 

Yea, good or ill may come and go. 
With darkened face or face of light, 

Since sun and air and sky will glow. 
Or soon or late, serenely bright; 

And whether good or ill befall 

Light, color, fragrance pierces all. 
266 



THE MIRROR OF STEEL. 267 

O, 'tis a precious art to learn, 

(Better than alchemist has won 
Who common things to gold would turn) 

One's heart to open to the sun 
And sky and air! That never ill 
May have a chance the space to fill. 



THE MIRROR OF STEEL. 




IS gallant steed stands close beside, 
Caparisoned and gay, 
For soon the knight to war will ride, 
From Lady Blanche away. 



The cold, bright armor of the time 

Is girt about his form, 
But underneath, with faith sublime 

In love his heart is warm. 



268 THE MIRROR OF STEEL. 

The Lady Blanche is Hthe and fair, 

In softest silk arrayed ; 
While floating folds of golden hair 

Make sunshine round the maid. 

Diviner meed to him she seems 
Than guerdon best of fame ; 

And o'er his face uprushing dreams 
The sweet belief proclaim. 

Her blue eyes' earnest glance he seeks, 
As hand grows warm in hand. 

And thrills to see her mantling cheeks — 
He does not understand 

That something else than love's conceit 

The Lady Blanche inspires 
To wear the glowing counterfeit 

Of love's ennobling fires — 

That while he folds her with his arm, 

His polished steel returns 
A flattering image of each charm 

For which his bosom burns ; 



THE MIRROR OF STEEL. 269 

And that her form's reflected grace 

Fills all the maiden's breast, 
Not one rift left of tender space 

For Love to build his nest ! 

Yet not alone in olden day 

Of glazen shields and casques, 
Has vanity been known to play 

With love in which it basks. 

'Tis sorry truth too oft, we know, 

The mirror in the breast, 
(That bravest lovers frankly show. 

Their faith to manifest,) 

To maids like Lady Blanche reveals 

The one they dearest prize. 
Stirring the rosy blush that steals 

From finger-tips to eyes ! 

Still, self-admiring beauty dares 

Demand its burnished glass ; 
Still, noblest knight most often wears 

A crystal-pure cuirass ! 



SONG OF THE OLD YEAR 




WAKE, awake, old Janus! 
Your double visage show, 
And open wide the gateway 

Through which I needs must go: 
Through which I needs must wander, 

A ghost of former time, 
And bear to land immortal 
A record of this clime. 



My royal life is ebbing. 

And though I lusty seem. 
Tomorrow none will know me 

But as a faded dream. 
Behind your closing portal 

I shall enshrouded be. 
Gathered with all the ages 

In past infinity. 
270 



SONG OF THE OLD YEAR. 27 1 

The days, the months, the seasons, 

Have loyal vassals been, 
With faithful fingers weaving 

The annals that I glean ; 
But, now, in festal garments 

They v/ait the coming king; 
Ready to bear his mandates, 

And tribute still to bring. 



A vision humbling tmly, 

While death, too, draweth near; 
For I a world have governed 

With naught to interfere — 
Naught say I ? Naught to check me ? 

Old Year, thy pride withdraw; 
But delegated power had'st thou — 

Thou, too, art slave to law! 



A larger power controls us, 
And none so regal be 

But higher throned, within us, 
Supreme is Deity. 



272 THE DIVINE WILL. 

And yet to meet good service 
A realm is still in store, 

O'er which thy rod found worthy 
Shall lift thee evermore. 

Then open wide, old Janus, 

The gate of passing time ; 
I hear the faint beginning 

Of fate's foreboding chime : 
My spirit drops its fetters 

The far beyond to delve — 
Uprise, swing wide, old Janus, 

The stroke is at the Twelve ! 



THE DIVINE WILL. 




EA, as thou wilt, benignant Power! 
I crave no will of mine ; 
But ever through life's little hour 
To freely yield to thine. 



GENERAL GORDON. 



273 



Go to, thou rash, impatient hope — 
My will that seeks today — 

God's times have everlasting scope, 
And faultless Will obey. 

Just as thou wilt, benignant Power! 

I crave no will but Thine, 
That ever through life's little hour 

Thy perfect Will be mine. 



GENERAL GORDON. 



Ah, God, for a man with heart, head, hand, 
Like some of the simple, great ones gone 
Forever and ever by. — Temiyson. 



|WS[E is come, he is come, we have seen him 
Far over the ocean's span; 



We have seen him a hero in China, 
And, too, in the wild Soudan — 



2 74 GENERAL GORDON. 

One of our race — and we glory 
That one of our race should be 

So brave, and gentle, and loyal 
To chivalry's creed as he ! 



In the bloom of his early manhood, 

The masterful power was seen 
That he drew from a clan of Scotsmen, 

Faithful to England's queen. 
Even then, in SebastopoFs trenches — 

Where cannon and grape and shell 
Ravaged with red wings of slaughter — 

Wounded yet smiling he fell. 



All his promise of youth that budded 

In so grave, disjointed time. 
Flowered into generous fullness 

In Asia's ardent clime : 
There, quelled he with "wand of magic,' 

The troublesome Taiping-horde ; 
Thence, sowed he the banks of Nilus 

With love's divinest word. 



GENERAL GORDON. 275 

True soldier, none doubted his courage ! 

. Fear fashioned no terrors for one 
Who trusted his shibboleth, Duty, 

In shadow as well as in sun ; 
Who, ruling Meroe and Ben Naga, 

Where sepultured kings once trod, 
Uplifted the Cross for the Crescent, 

And for Allah the Christian's God. 



Oh, tender and wise and lofty. 

The heart and head of the man 
Who ruled with a quiet spirit, 

Long years in the wild Soudan; 
Who gained the faith of the Arab, 

Till El Mahdi's force today. 
In worshipful fear of the Gordon, 

Falls silently from his way. 



Yes, the man is come, who is simple 
And great in his earnest life — 

Ever a friend of the friendless. 
And alway a soother of strife — 



276 GENERAL GORDON. 

And he it is who is lifted, 
A lode-star of truth- and right, 

To comfort Egypta's troubles 
With his swift supplies of light. 



If he fail, he is still a hero — 

If he fail, he is still the man 
Who, type of the Heavenly Ruler, 

Has walked through the wild Soudan, 
Touching to calm the fever 

Of restless Ethiop-foes — 
Cheering with hope and justice 

The tortured Moslem's woes. 



Yet how can he fail, whose valor 

Is born of a heart so ]Dure 
That Sir Galahad's tenfold prowess 

Could never have been more sure ? 
Face to face with the hosts of Satan, 

Face to face with the enemy's breath, 
He is victor of all who is victor 

Of himself — in life and death. 



A JACQUEMINOT. 



ROSE from my lady's bouquet — 
Did she give it to me ? Ah, no ; 



I only gathered it where it lay, 
Dropped from my lady's rare bouquet 

Noisettes and les jfacqueminots 

flushing the air below. 

"My lady," mine did I say? 
Not even her name I know, 

Who carried the rare bouquet ; 

Yet a rose fell out of it in my way, 
Red as a rose can blow. 
And met by an equal glow. 

What matter to any one, pray, 

That I tenderly hold it — so ? 
Velvety, blushing, bright as the day 
The rose and the lady. Kiss I may, 
Through the bloom its petals show, 
Her cheek in the Jacqueminot ! 



278 FORM AND FRAGRANCE. 

Kiss it and dream alway, 

That a drop from her heart's red flow 
Sought, as it fell from her sweet bouquet, 
To mingle its soul with mine for aye — 
For aye, wherever I go — 
In the breath of a Jacqueminot. 



FORM AND FRAGRANCE. 



I. 




OME homes there are but meager 
In limit of house and ground; 
No traces around of the graces 

Of luxury to be found : 
Yet joy in the children's faces 
And treasures of love abound. 



FORM AND FRAGRANCE. 279 

II. 

The pansy's pride is eager 

Its purple and gold to show, 
While tenderer violets render 

Less glow, but a sweet o'erflow; 
And sweetness is more than splendor, 

As souls that have tried them know. 

III. 

When night comes on with rigor 

Of death to darken the day — 
When December's latest ember 

Of life is shrunken away — 
Which will the Lord remember, 

Spirit or substance, say? 




SUMMER SILENCE 






HERE is stillness, rapturous stillness, in the 

August afternoon, 
Though the low swung leaflets quiver to the 

cricket's drowsy tune. 
In the cornfields, gilded sentries face unmoved 

the cloudless west. 
While yellow moths dart through them in disdain 

of idle rest; 
Yet no rustle from their transit do we hear within 

the pause — 
Not the faintest sound of motion from the pin- 
ions' floating gauze : 
Nay; so noiseless is the poising and the flitting 

. of each wing, 
That the silence is but richer for the golden hush 

they bring. 

The droning of the crickets — did it break the 
breathless swoon, 

280 



SUMMER SILENCE. 28 1 

Of the half unconscious senses, in this August 

afternoon ? 
Did it wake the tiniest fairy in her rosy sleep, 

pray, did it? 
A thousand times we answer with the Katy-Did — 

"Nay, did it?" 
A thousand times we answer to the cricket's lazy 

drone, 
That the silence is more silent for such tender 

monotone. . 

Oh, the echoes of the silence of this strangely 

vocal hour, 
Outflowing from the honey-bee that hums above 

the flower, 
Upwelling from the locust-leaf in unseen murmurs 

there, 
And throbbing through a world of life whose home 

is in the air ! 

Yes; the golden day is dreamful through the 

music summer breeds, 
— Her myriad voices quickened like her myriad 

flowering seeds — 



262 HER GARDEN. 

And the silence is intenser with its presence 

whispered so, 
By the weird cicada-chorus and the moths' 

aerial glow : 
By the thrill of praise ascending from garden,- 

field and grove — 
Tuneful silence that keeps measure with unuttered 

peace and love. 



HER GARDEN. 



ITH spade and rake she sought her garden 
plot, 

When bright brown thrushes singing came 
To bronze the hedge. 

Sang she, too, with pure aim 
All graceless growth to harrow out, and not 
Leave aught unseemly. 

Cold the day or hot, 



A " ROSE OF THE ROSEBUD GARDEN OF GIRLS." 283 

She delved and weeded, thinking thus to shame 
More careless gardening; and to win a name 
For toothsome fruit which should not be forgot. 

Paul plants, Apollos waters, but increase 
Must come from God. 

Through unseen faults of fence 
Crept foxes, while tired nature caused surcease 
Of care. 

Health came, but no sun shining. Hence, 
The new seeds failed to bloom. The old bloom 

dead — 
Alas! my barren hope, she sighing said. 



A "ROSE OF THE ROSEBUD GAR 
DEN OF GIRLS." 

TO O. J. 



EN blessed years of favoring sun and dew 



LH Have wrought with tireless, tributary care 
To lift my bud into a blossom rare 
'Mong rarest roses. 



284 A " ROSE OF THE ROSEBUD GARDEN OF GIRLS." 

Pure mother-fingers, too, 
Have plucked the weeds that pressed the rich 
soil through. 
Till petal after petal spreads to air 
Transparent loveliness. 

Methinks, nowhere 
Sweet maiden charms infold a heart more true. 
Therefore to me should the dear Master say : 
" Son, fearless ask, thy parent-hope to fill 
Whatever thou would'st have of sweeter, higher. 
Or more fair bestowal " — I would answer " Nay," 
Yet reverently thankful to the Will, 
"Thou can'st not add one grace to my desire." 




TO "A PERFECT WOMAN NOBLY 
PLANNED." 



IS said that Rev'rence upon silence waits, 
Fearing the misconceptions that pursue 



The frank avowal of the simple true ; 
That when Expression swings impassioned gates 
And cold convention's bulwark violates, 

Only the mask of homage passes through ! 

And yet 'tis simplest truth that reaches you, 
When your sweet praise my voice reiterates. 
For when a soul's rare radiance doth command 
The worship of the few — who understand 

A woman's trinity of perfectness — 
As well the songs of seraphim can die 
About the Throne, as one stand mutely by, 

Dumb to the being fashioned so to bless ! 




28s 



